The piercing yell of the old Indian caused the shouting spectators to grow silent, while they looked on in thrilled astonishment. As there came a hush the old man cried:
“Heap big hard hit! Him mighty whiteskin chief!” Then he ended with a most bloodcurdling war-whoop.
“A-haw! a-haw! a-haw!” brayed the stammering fellow on the bleachers. “Didn’t I tell you he could dud-dud-dud-do it! A-haw! a-haw! a-haw!”
When the rejoicing players lowered the hero of the moment, the boy who had dashed out ahead of the Indian sprang forward and grasped the jay’s hand.
“I knew you’d do it!” he said, his handsome face glowing, while there was a look of pride in his eyes. “Why, you can do anything! You can do everything!”
“Oh, not by a gosh-ding sight!” exclaimed the countryman awkwardly. “I couldn’t keep a certain gingery young colt from buckin’ over the traces oncet on a time; but I kainder guess he won’t do it no more.”
“Never!” declared the boy, something like a look of shame coming to his face. “Oh, I was silly! Just see what I would have missed had I gone away!”
Trueman took hold of the jay and drew him aside.
“See here, man!” he exclaimed, in repressed excitement; “who are you, anyhow? Where did you ever play?”
“Mud Crick, Slabtown, Suckerville, an’ other towns like that. Oh, I’ve got a reppertation where I’m known! I tole yer I could do a thing ur two.”