So, without drinking or smoking, they sauntered out of the office to the steps of the hotel, where Merry had first been observed by the men.
As they reached the steps their attention was drawn to a shouting, whooping band of urchins who were following at the heels of Old Joe Crowfoot.
“Hello!” exclaimed Frank. “Here seems to be some excitement.”
With a dirty red blanket wrapped about his shoulders, the old Indian came stalking along Chestnut Street, followed by a crowd of whooping boys of every size and age. He paid not the slightest attention to the urchins, but walked with all the dignity he could command, his thin lips pressed together and his black eyes gleaming like the eyes of an aroused animal.
The boys were led by one big, hulking fellow, who was at least eighteen years old, and who looked very tough and fierce. This chap was smoking a cigarette, and had his soiled cap pulled down over one eye. He walked with the gait of a prize-fighter, his neck thrust forward and his chin protruding, while his shoulders were hunched. Now and then he would turn and incite the yelling boys to louder outbreaks of ridicule and derision.
“What do me eyes behold?” exclaimed Jack Ready. “The noble red man hath encountered a few samples of the real uncivilized civilization. I see he is enjoying it greatly.”
“Nothing in the world could make Joe so furious as to be mocked by boys.”
As Merry spoke, the aged Indian suddenly stopped and turned on his pursuers.