“I go little far with you,” said the Indian shouldering his basket of roots and green stuff. “My woman make basket, too. I make good medicine. You come I show you basket.”
“Oh, dear,” thought Jack, “I believe he just wants me to go to his tent or lodge, or whatever it is, to see his baskets. I haven’t any money and I don’t want to go further than I need.” She turned to the Indian. “No money to-day. You come to the camp, Miss Marshall’s camp. Do you know ’Lish?”
The Indian nodded.
“It is the camp where he is.”
“I know him.”
“Then you come and we will buy some baskets.”
“To-morrow?”
“Yes, to-morrow.”
“All right. Good-bye.”
This was the end of the interview and Jack, turning her back on the Indian, pursued her way. After going a short distance she suddenly remembered that she had forgotten to ask the man if he had seen anything of a tame fawn, but concluded after all it would have been of no use, for wherever Happy might have been earlier in the day he would be elsewhere now. So she walked on in the direction she had determined upon. She had not gone a great way before she heard a cheerful whistling at what seemed no great distance. Following the sound, which fortunately was coming from in front instead of behind her, she presently came upon a young man standing before a sketching easel. He was busy at work upon the canvas before him, whistling cheerily as he worked, backing off every now and then to see the effect of what he had done.