kets with a forked stick of peeled willow, the Indian turned in, leaving Connie beside the dying fire to think over the chief's story. Charred ends of brushwood fell into the red coals and flared into flame that caused shifting shadows to dance among the litter of abandoned equipage, and threw into uncanny relief the twisted trunks of scrub timber. Connie caught himself darting swift, furtive glances toward the rim of the circle of firelight, while little tickly chills chased up and down his spine. The boy's fists clenched in a sudden flash of anger. "You tin horn! You're scared!" he hissed through clenched teeth. "You're a coward. You're worse than the Indians! About the only detail you're fit for is to sweep out the barracks!"
Suddenly he stood erect. "Who says I'm afraid of ghosts?" he cried. "Or kultus tamahnawuses, or whatever they call 'em!" And with outthrust jaw, walked deliberately into the scrub and beyond the dancing shadows, nor did he return to the fire until he had made a complete circuit of the camp. A few moments later he crawled between his blankets and as he drew them over his head an owl hooted in a near-by tree and upon a far sand-hill a lone wolf howled dismally.
