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Bartley filled the canteen and scraped dirt over the fire. Cheyenne took a last look around, and turned toward the south. "You didn't say nothin' about headin' back to Antelope," said Cheyenne. "Why, no. I started out to visit Senator Brown's ranch." Cheyenne laughed. "Well, you're out to see the country, anyhow. We'll see lots, to-day." Once more upon the road Cheyenne's manner changed.
One of the daily papers commented upon the fact that "the parties unknown" must have been fast and efficient gunmen. Cheyenne's name was not mentioned, and that was due to the influence of the marshal, Senator Brown, and the mayor, which left readers of the papers to infer that the police of Phoenix had handled the matter themselves.
"Ai!" responded Mahtotohpa, gladly; and ridding himself of shield and quiver he rushed forward, feeling for his knife, too. But his knife was not in his belt. He had lost it, or left it at home! Hah! He could not stop they had come together the Cheyenne was upon him. So he fought with his bow. He struck aside the Cheyenne's thrust, and hit him over the head and knocked him down. They grappled.
It was a terrible fight. Mahtotohpa clutched for the knife, and the sharp blade was wrenched through his hand, cutting to the bone. The Cheyenne stabbed him many times, and many times Mahtotohpa clutched the knife blade again, before he could tear the haft from the Cheyenne's fingers. But suddenly he succeeded, and the Cheyenne died.
Bearing the rifle proudly, Jimmy marched from the store. Dorothy and Bartley followed him, and Bartley briefly outlined Cheyenne's recent sprightly exodus from San Andreas. "I heard about it, from Mr. Hodges," said Dorothy. "And I also noticed that you have hurt your hand." Bartley glanced at his right hand and then at Dorothy, who was gazing at him curiously.
"Perhaps Dobe left for home and the rest followed him," said Bartley. "Nope. Our hosses was roped and led south." Bartley stared at Cheyenne, whose usually placid countenance expressed indecision and worry. Cheyenne seemed positive about the missing horses. Then Bartley saw an expression in Cheyenne's eyes that indicated more sternness of spirit than he had given Cheyenne credit for.
Cheyenne's face expressed happiness, yet Bartley was puzzled. The boy was not what could be termed indifferent in any sense, yet he had taken his father's presence casually, showing no special interest in their meeting. And why had Cheyenne never mentioned the boy?
Bartley watched him as he crossed the railroad tracks and turned down a side street. Back in his room Bartley paced up and down, keeping time to the tune of Cheyenne's trail song. The morning sun poured down upon the station roof opposite, and danced flickering across the polished tracks of the railroad. Presently Bartley stopped pacing his room and stood at the window.
The warriors of both parties had formed a circle close about, watching. Mahtotohpa staggered up, with the Cheyenne's scalp and knife, and gave the kill whoop and thus victory rested with the Mandans. That was Mahtotohpa's most famous battle. In another battle he got his name, Four Bears.
"You got the right idea!" exclaimed the blacksmith, evidently pleased. "All Cheyenne's friends have been waitin' for years for him to clean that slate and start fresh again. He used to be a right-smart hand, before he had trouble." The blacksmith accompanied his conversation with considerable elbow motion and the rattle and clang of shaping horseshoes.
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