"Ugh! Water heap good. Joe he take some."
Immediately Frank released the old man's wrists, and Joe slipped his knife out of sight with something like a show of shame.
In another moment Merry had his canteen, filled it at the spring, and handed it to Crowfoot, who gravely took it and began to drink. The boys stood around, and their eyes bulged as the old man held the canteen to his mouth, tipping it more and more skyward, a deep gurgling coming from his throat. He continued to drink until the canteen was quite emptied, when he lowered it with perfect gravity, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and observed:
"Joe him a little dry!"
"Well, I should say so!" smiled Frank. "Your interior must have been as parched as an alkali desert, Joe."
"If he takes many drinks like that," said Ready, with a queer twist of his mug, "there'll be a drought[Pg 275] in this country that will make an ordinary dry spell look like a back number."
Crowfoot did not smile. Giving back the canteen, he sat down on the ground, resting his elbows on his knees and taking his head in his hands. He was the picture of misery and dejection.
"Injun big fool!" he groaned. "Last night feel much good; to-day feel a lot bad. Big pain in head."
"We've all been there many's the time," sang Jack Ready softly.
Then the eccentric chap sat down on the ground beside the redskin, about whom he placed an arm.