They cut off the bottoms of old man Wilkins's feet, and stood him on an ant-hill--.
In a minute or so, though, my wits gets to work.
"Why ain't the shack burned ?" I asks myself, "and why is the hoss and the mule tied all so peaceful to the corral ?" It didn't take long for a man who knows Injins to answer THOSE conundrums.

The whole thing was a trap--for me--and I'd walked into it, chuckle-headed as a prairie-dog! With that I makes a run outside--by now it was dark--and listens.

Sure enough, I hears hosses.

So I makes a rapid sneak back over the trail.
Everything seemed all right till I got up to the rim-rock.

Then I heard more hosses--ahead of me.