"Yes; the one my father gave you," said Bob.
So mystified was Red Fox by the intelligence that apparently he had not only been expected by the boys but that he had been looked for as the bearer of a letter from the fathers to their sons, that he was momentarily startled out of his caution in pretending an only slight acquaintance with the English language.
He stared open-eyed at the question, and Bob continued evenly—
"Of course my father would send a letter if he wanted us. He would do that to prove that his messenger was one whom we could trust. Did he give you one?"
Red Fox was quite taken off his guard by the white boy's guile, but he strove to cover his confusion by further lying.
"Yes—the white man send paper by hand of Red Fox, but—but Red Fox foolish; he—lose letter—on trail——"
"But you are sure you had one? It would be written—in red—with a red pencil—a red paint-stick."
"My white brother speaks true," said the Indian.
"Of course he does!" chimed in Alf, to whom his chum's ruse was now clear. "And if that letter was written in red and sent to us, we would know where it came from, and would follow the messenger at once."
The Indian flashed a quick glance of hatred towards the last speaker, but instantly lowered his eyelids again, as he returned with more calmness than before—