“Hello, George!”
He thus unceremoniously addressed made no reply, but a cold, contemptuous look came into his eyes. Then he quietly said:—
“Do the Ogallalla dance the Sun-Dance (Note 1) in winter?”
“Ha!” said the Indian, emphatically, grasping at once the other’s meaning.
“When I was lost in the Ogallalla villages, all the warriors knew me,” went on Vipan, scathingly. “There may have been boys who have become warriors since.”
“Ha!”
The Indian was not a little astonished. This white man spoke the Dahcotah language fluently. He was also not a little angry, and his eyes flashed.
“You are not of the race of those around us,” he said, “not of the race of The Beaver,” turning to the scout. “Your great chief is George.”
“Don’t get mad, Vipan,” said Smokestack Bill, hastening to explain. “He only means that you’re an Englishman. It’ll take generations to get out of these fellers’ heads that Englishmen are still ruled by King George.”
Vipan laughed drily. He had given this cheeky young buck an appropriate setting down. Whether or no it was taken in good part was a matter of indifference to him.