"It is over this way that the trail runs to Tintacker, doesn't it, Jib?" Ruth asked the Indian, privately.
"Yes, Miss. Such trail as there is can be reached in half an hour from this camp."
"Oh! I do so want to see that man who killed the bear, Jib," urged the girl from the Red Mill.
"Well, it might be done, if he's over this way now," returned Jib, thoughtfully. "He is an odd stick that's sure. Don't know whether he'd let himself be come up with. But"
"Will you ride with me to the mines?" demanded Ruth, eagerly.
"I expect I could," admitted the Indian.
"I would be awfully obliged to you."
"I don't know what Mr. Hicks would say. But the cattle are in hand again and there's less than a hundred here for the bunch to drive back. They can get along without me, I reckon."
"And surely without me!" laughed Ruth.
And so it was arranged. The Indian and Ruth were off up the valley betimes the next morning, while the rest of the party started for the river, driving the last of the stray beeves ahead of them.
