“Vy? I don’t know. Only ven you pe his vrow, pimepye, pooty soon, den you dells him eferyt’ings. Yaw.”
Jan chuckled hugely at her confusion, and walked behind the rest all the way down the mountain, that he might enjoy a laugh by himself. They came to the level plain just at the point where the pass entered the valley, and there waited for the coming of the others. As they waited, they heard the crack of a rifle in the ravine below, followed by a shout from Ben.
“Run to their aid,” cried Millicent. “Why do you hesitate?”
They hurried on to the assistance of the trapper, and found him standing in the mouth of the pass, rifle in hand, disputing the further advance of the party of Indians, who had by this time crossed the stream, and were parleying with him.
“My brother will let his red friends come. They wish to smoke a pipe with him,” said the leading Indian.
“I am not in a smoking mood to-day,” said Ben. “You clear out. I’ve made a camp hyar, an’ hyar I mean to stay.”
“My brother is welcome to the home of the Blackfeet. But, why has he come among us, and stolen our prisoners?”
“None of your puisiness,” roared Jan, taking a position by the side of Ben so suddenly, that even the iron-nerved trapper started. “Vat you vant here?”
“Ah-ha! Ar’ you thar, old Bologna?” laughed the trapper. “I’m teachin’ ye how to do it, then. Ha, Jule, you here too? Whar is the little ’un? Whar is she?”
“Here,” said Millicent, in her clear, sweet voice, stepping to the front. “I could not keep away, while you were all in danger. And I brought Bentley his rifle. He needs a weapon.”