The Carlisle student took the proffered hand and shook it warmly.
“Thank you, Mr. Merriwell,” he said, simply.
“Oh, Frank!” cried Inza; “what do you think?”
“I think a number of things,” laughed Merry. “What do you mean?”
“Why, that Indian who grasped me in his arms at the station is here—I saw him!”
“What!”
“It is true! I saw him watching me, but he put off quickly enough when Mr. Swiftwing came up.”
“It is Whirling Bear, the great wrestler of our people,” said Swiftwing. “He was drunk when he molested you yesterday, else he would not have done it. He was drunk on rum, which he obtained from some conscienceless white man.”
“White men should be ashamed to sell such stuff to the poor Indians!” cried Inza.
“They make money by selling it,” Swiftwing observed, with a touch of scorn in his voice.