CHAPTER XII
YEASTY SUSPICION
ACKERMAN walked to the small corral, where two straight irons were in a fire and where three men were cinching up in preparation. Fleming, Harrison, and Gates, lolling on the ground, kept up a running fire of comment, and Ackerman stopped and looked down at them.
"Three cheerful fools," he grinned.
"Here's Little Jimmy," remarked Fleming; "an' by all th' Roman gods, he's actually grinnin'! Look, fellers! Behold an' ponder! Mr. Ackerman wears a smile!"
"Sick?" solicitously inquired Harrison.
"Drunk?" suspiciously questioned Gates.
"Three children," grunted Ackerman. "An' scabby. Two sentries an' a hunter."
Holbrook poked the fire. "Kit Carson, Dan'l Boone, an' Californy Joe. Three scouts. Th' ambushin' trio."
"Faith, Hope, an' Charity," chuckled Purdy.
"You called it," grinned Holbrook.
"If Custer had only had 'em," said Ackerman, "there'd been no massacre."
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