"Where is the T Up and Down ?" he asked.
"'Bout a hunderd an' fifteen miles no'thwest o' here, t'other side o' Zumbro Creek," Bill answered.
"Good!" cried Whitey.

"I'll take Injun, and--" "Wouldn't do that," Bill objected.

"Dan hates Injuns, an' he'd sure be rambunctious 'bout this one." "All right," Whitey agreed, rather reluctantly.

"If I start early enough, Monty and I ought to make it some time to-morrow night." If Whitey had been noticing Bill's face at that moment, he would have seen a rather peculiar smile cross it, but he wasn't.

Nor did he suspect anything the next morning, when he met Bill at the corral before dawn.
"That Monty hoss o' yours seems sort o' lame, this mornin'," said Bill.
"Reck'n one o' th' other cayuses must 'a' kicked him, or somep'n.