“Watch him, Merry,” cautioned Bart, in a low tone. “These half-civilized red dogs are treacherous.”
The Indian did not stir as they approached. Beside him, leaning against the boulder, was a handsome rifle. He did not touch the weapon.
“Hello, chief,” said Frank, addressing the old man in a manner he knew was flattering to some redskins, as he drew up.
“How, how,” grunted the old fellow, in answer.
“Are you acquainted in this vicinity?”
“Ak-waint?” said the old man. “No savvy.”
“Are you familiar with the country?”
“Fam-mil? What him?”
“Have you been all round every place here?” asked Merry, with a sweep of his arm, using the simplest words he could command.
“Heap been all over,” was the assurance.