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"Now, my friend," he continued rapidly, "you'd better go in and put on your war-togs." Vernon groaned. "Put 'em on thick. I believe Markeld suspects the trick we're playing, and we've got to fool him we've got to show him what a sick man you are." "How could he suspect?" demanded Vernon, incredulously. "Even if he saw me, he couldn't recognise me he doesn't know me."
It was a long time ago, he kept reminding himself, and the light was poor and he hadn't shaved for a week he had always afterward realized that with much mental discomfort and he really did look a lot different when he had on his "war-togs," by which he meant his best clothes. He wouldn't blame her at all if she passed him up for a stranger, just at first.
She uttered an excited squeal. "Helen! Ruthie!" she declared. "It's that Indian girl in all her war-togs, too. She is riding like the wind. And, yes! There is somebody after her! Talk about your moving picture chases this is the real thing!" "It's Dakota Joe!" shrieked Helen. "Goodness! He must have gone mad. See him beating that horse he rides. Why "
"Hike over and get the haughty new war-bag, and we'll hit the sod. I've got to be in camp by dinner-time." A mile out Pink looked down at his festal garments and smiled. "I expect I'll be pickings for your Happy Family when they see me in these war-togs," he remarked. Chip turned and regarded him meditatively for a minute.
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