horror at the news Bridger yelped out: "What sort of a knife was used?"
"Dirk."
"Then th' squaw done it—old Deschamps' wildcat girl. She tried to stick a dirk into me. The old man said Phinny had promised to keep her as his woman. She probably thought he was going back on his bargain."
"This is terrible!" groaned McKenzie. "I must ride back at once."
As he reined his horse into the trail Bridger ran up to the messenger and said:
"Your nag's blowed. Ride one of our horses to the fort, leadin' t'other two."
"Yes, bring the animals along," wearily mumbled McKenzie as he rode down the trail.
Bridger piled into the keelboat and beckoned Lander to follow him. Then he warned:
"Now, young feller, you're going to see some real boating. It's twenty-five miles, an' keelboats ain't s'posed to run at night except when there's a good moon. But we're going through—bent for breakfast. It'll be darker'n the inside of a beaver. We're going to pass the fort in the dark an' make the Yallerstone without being spotted. Now grab one of them poles an' hump yourself."
