"He certainly was," replied Neale, with a shudder.
Larry reached a long hand to Neale's shoulder. He owed his life to
his friend. But he did not speak of that. Instead he glanced wisely
at Neale and laughed.
"Kinda weak in the middle, eh?" he said. "I felt thet way once....
Pard, if you ever get r'iled you'll be shore bad."
For Neale shooting at an Indian was strikingly different from boyish
dreams of doing it. He had acted so swiftly that it seemed it must
have been instinctive. Yet thinking back, slowly realizing the
nature of the repellent feeling within him, he remembered a bursting
gush of hot blood, a pantherish desire to leap, to strike--and then
cool, stern watchfulness. The whole business had been most
unpleasant.
Upon arriving at camp they reported the incident, and they learned
Indians had showed up at various points along the line. Troopers had
been fired upon. Orders were once more given that all work must be
carried on under the protection of the soldiers, so that an ambush
would be unlikely. Meanwhile a detachment of troops would be sent
out to drive back the band of Sioux.
These two hard experiences made actuality out of what Neale's chief
had told him would be a man's game in a wild time. This work on the
U. P. was not play or romance.
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