“As much as you like,” nodded Merry, flinging wide open a window.
The old savage gravely squatted on the floor, bringing forth his long black pipe and filling it with tobacco. When he had lighted it he sat there, puffing away in silence, while the others talked.
Of course, there was much to talk about, and the conversation was moving briskly when Ready and Rattleton drifted in. Jack struck a pose when his eyes fell on Swiftwing.
“What is this I behold?” he cried dramatically. “Is it my noble friend of the war-path? Whoop! It is! It are! It am! Come to me arms, my noble ghost-dancer, and let me fold you, like a long-lost brother, in a fond embrace.”
Then he pranced forward and clasped the hand which Swiftwing gravely submitted. The young Indian was accustomed to the exuberant ways of Ready, and took no offense.
“And here is that gentle young gazelle, Joseph Crowfoot, Esquire,” said Ready, making a grand bow. “Chief, I salute you.”
“Ugh!” grunted Old Joe, as he continued smoking, without paying any further attention to Jack.
Then Ready saw Carson, rubbed his eyes, looked again, pinched himself, and exclaimed:
“Ho! ha! Also he! he! Likewise ho! ho! This is another jolly little surprise. Here is me old side-partner, the cow-puncher! Pard, this is a sight for lame eyes! You dear old maverick, how is your general health?”
“It’s first-class, Ready,” laughed Berlin, as he shook hands with Jack. “I don’t think it ever was better.”