his mother told him more of it? And why was she not like this good woman
with the gentle voice who was so kind to--to Susy? And what did they
mean by making HIM so miserable? Something rose in his throat, but with
an effort he choked it back, and, creeping from the lounge, went softly
to the window, opened it to see if it "would work," and looked out. The
shrouded camp fires, the stars that glittered but gave no light, the dim
moving bulk of a patrol beyond the circle, all seemed to intensify the
darkness, and changed the current of his thoughts. He remembered what
Mr. Peyton had said of him when they first met. "Suthin of a pup, ain't
he?" Surely that meant something that was not bad! He crept back to the
couch again.
Lying there, still awake, he reflected that he wouldn't be a scout when
he grew up, but would be something like Mr. Peyton, and have a train
like this, and invite the Silsbees and Susy to accompany him. For this
purpose, he and Susy, early to-morrow morning, would get permission to
come in here and play at that game. This would familiarize him with the
details, so that he would be able at any time to take charge of it. He
was already an authority on the subject of Indians! He had once been
fired at--as an Indian. He would always carry a rifle like that hanging
from the hooks at the end of the wagon before him, and would eventually
slay many Indians and keep an account of them in a big book like that
on the desk. Susy would help him, having grown up a lady, and they would
both together issue provisions and rations from the door of the wagon to
the gathered crowds. He would be known as the "White Chief," his Indian
name being "Suthin of a Pup." He would have a circus van attached to
the train, in which he would occasionally perform. He would also have
artillery for protection. There would be a terrific engagement, and he
would rush into the wagon, heated and blackened with gunpowder; and
Susy would put down an account of it in a book, and Mrs. Peyton--for she
would be there in some vague capacity--would say, "Really, now, I don't
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