"White men from the fort," muttered Bridger, riding toward the music.
Soon they sighted them—a band of white men, mounted and playing their instruments as they rode. The music was most sweet in the ears of the trappers, and for a moment Bridger forgot to wonder at its coming.
"Look who rides behind!" softly cried out Lander.
"I see 'em," murmured Bridger, watching the figures of McKenzie and Phinny. "Remember—not a sign or a word to Phinny that you suspect him," warned Bridger. "The music ain't for us. Must be for the Injuns."
In this surmise he was correct, for on sighting him McKenzie showed surprise, then spurred ahead, and jovially explained:
"A little treat for the Assiniboins. It tickles old Gauche's fancy. We don't lose anything by humoring him. When we get him we get all his people."
"Mighty good notion," admitted Bridger.
Then with a little smile he reminded: "An' the A. F. C. never goes after the Injuns. Just let's 'em come to the fort or stay away."
McKenzie scowled but instantly retorted:
