"But you know more than I do. And you see fit to make mystery of it to my confusion."
"Silly! I'm doing nothing of the sort. I've positively told you all I can."
"Be careful, now! Can, will, or may?"
"Don't pin me down. You know I'm a feeble dissembler."
"You've told me all you may, then," he said with conviction.
"Have it that way if you choose. How about some breakfast?—and then your triumphal entry into the festivities?"
"I hate to show myself—actually."
"Pooh! I'm disappointed in you. Come on—I've ordered breakfast for us in the restaurant booth. Red-hot chili dishes and bellota. It should be ready by now."
The Showut Poche-dakas, at least, paid very little attention to Oliver as he limped from the ramada at Jessamy's side. But he was congratulated by white men on every hand, among them Mr. Damon Tamroy, the first friend he had made in the country.
"I wish you could 'a' heard what Old Dad Sloan had to say after the dance," was Tamroy's greeting. "The dance got the old man started, and he opened up a little. Selden wasn't about at the time, and Dad said that once, years ago, Selden married a squaw and made a try at the fire dance. There was two dances that night, Old Dad said. Selden's partner, too, married an Indian girl, and both of 'em danced. Selden's partner won out, and was made a member o' the tribe; but Selden fell down."