I will go up on my look-out post and see if anything is in sight." Slinging the strap of his field-glass over his shoulder, the Texan hurriedly climbed up the tree.

Seated among the top-most limbs, he adjusted his glass and looked away to the northeast.
"There they are!" he cried.
"Who?
What ?" exclaimed Pond, rather nervously.
"The Black Hillers, struggling along mighty careless.

Their route covers half a mile in length; when in good marching order it should not cover a hundred yards, with scouts in the rear, front, and on both flanks, at twice the distance.

That is the way we travel in Texas." "Wild Bill has been a scout so long I should think he would know all about it," said Pond.
"A heap them scouts know who travel with Uncle Sam's troop's!" said the Texan, in a tone of contempt.

"Let them ride with a gang of Texan Rangers a few months and they'd learn something.