"But are they behaving themselves?" questioned Joe.
"They are doing a good deal better than formerly, Joe. There is only one old chief in this neighborhood who seems to want to cause trouble."
"And who is that?"
"White Ox. He is some sort of a relative to Sitting Bull, so I've been told, and he won't give in that the white man is master of the situation. He has tried to get his warriors to rise against us several times, but so far he hasn't accomplished much."
"Where is White Ox now?"
"Over behind yonder mountain to the north. He is chief of a band that numbers between a hundred and a hundred and fifty people. He himself is one of the best Indian shots in the West."
"It's a pity they can't become citizens as well as other folks," remarked Darry.
"That's the whole trouble, lad. The United States didn't treat them right in the first place, and we are bound to suffer in consequence. But in the end the Injun will be wiped out completely."
As night came on, countless stars shone in the sky, making the trail fairly light. Old Benson rode in advance, with Darry next and Joe bringing up the rear.
