In the Pecos Country | Page 3

talk might have discouraged ordinary people, but Barnwell and his
companions had long since become accustomed to it. They had learned to brave ridicule
before leaving their homes, and they classed the expressions of the hunters who had
called upon them with the utterances of those who failed to "look into the future."
"We were not the dunces to suppose that this was a promised land, in which there were
no giants to dispossess," replied Barnwell, in the same dignified manner. "Our fathers had
to fight the Indians, and we are prepared to do the same."
Sut Simpson had no patience with this sort of talk, and he threw up his head with an
impatient gesture.
"Did you ever toss a hunk of buffler meat to a hungry hound, and seen how nice he'd
catch it in his jaws, and gulp it down without winkin', and then he'd lick his chops, and
look up and whine for more. Wal, that's just the fix you folks are in. Lone Wolf and his
men will swallow you down without winkin', and then be mad that there ain't somethin'

left to squinch thar hunger."
As the hunter uttered this significant warning, he gathered up the reins of his mustang and
rode away.
CHAPTER II
A BRIEF CONFERENCE
Sut Simpson was thoroughly impatient and angry. Knowing, as well as he did, the
dangerous character of Arizona, New Mexico, Northwestern Texas and Indian Territory,
he could not excuse such a foolhardy proceeding as that of a small colony settling in the
very heart of that section. The nearest point where they could hope for safety was Fort
Severn, fifty miles distant. There was a company of soldiers under command of an
experienced United States officer, and they knew well enough to keep within the
protection of their stockades, except when making reconnoissances in force.
All those who were acquainted with the veteran scout were accustomed to defer to his
judgment, where Indians were concerned, and he was so used to receiving this deference,
that when he was contradicted and gainsayed by these new settlers, he lost his patience,
and started to leave them in a sort of mild passion.
The place fixed for the location of New Boston was in a gently sloping valley, with the
Rio Pecos running on the right. The soil was fertile, as was shown in the abundance of
rich, succulent grass which grew about them, while, only a few hundred yards up the
river, was a grove of timber, filled in with dense undergrowth and brush--the most
favorable location possible for a band of daring red-skins, when preparing to make a raid
upon the settlement. The hunter turned the head of his mustang in the direction of this
wood, and rode away at a slow walk. He had nearly reached the margin, when some one
called to him:
"Hist, there, ye spalpeen! Won't ye howld on a minute?"
Turning his head, he saw the Irishman walking rapidly toward him, after the manner of
one who had something important to say. He instantly checked his horse, and waited for
him to come up.
"Do you know," struck in Mickey, "that I belaved in Misther Barnwell till we reached
Kansas City? There we met people that had been all through this country and that knew
all about it, and every one of the spalpeens told us that we'd lose our sculps if we comed
on. I did n't consider it likely that all of them folks would talk in that style unless they
meant it, and half a dozen of us made up our minds that the best thing we could do was to
go back, or stop where we was. We wint to Misther Barnwell and plaided with him, and I
was ready to break a shillalah over his head by way of convincin' him of the truth of me
remarks, but it was no use. He just grinned and shook his head. The folks all seem to be
afeard of him, as though he were St. Patrick or some other sensible gintleman, and so we
comed on."

"What made you come?" asked Sut, throwing his knee upon the saddle and looking down
upon the Irishman. "You could do as you choosed."
"No, I could n't. I hired out to Mr. Moonson for a year, and there ain't half a year gone yet,
and I've got to stick to him till the time is up."
"Whose little boy is that I seed standing by you?"
"That's Mr. Moonson's boy, Fred, one of the foinest, liveliest lads ye ever sot eyes on,
and I'm much worried on his account."
"Are his parents with you?"
"Naither of 'em."
The hunter looked surprised, and the Irishman hastened to explain.
"I never knowed his mother--she havin' been