Father was steadily and surely declining in health; but mother had become strong and robust, and her disease seemed to have left her altogether. She tried to encourage father, and really believed his weakness was only temporary.
Scarcely a day passed that I did not see some of the Sioux Indians who were scattered through that portion of the State. In going to, and coming from the agency, they would sometimes stop at our house.
Father was very quick in picking up languages, and he was able to converse quite easily with the red men.
How I used to laugh to hear them talk in their odd language, which sounded to me just as if they were grunting at each other.
But the visits used to please father and mother, and I was always glad to see some of the rather ragged and not over-clean warriors stop at the house.
I remember one hot day in June, when father was sitting under a tree in front of the house, and I was inside helping mother, we heard the peculiar noises which told us that father had an Indian visitor. We both went to the door, and I passed outside to laugh at their queer talk.
Sure enough, an Indian was seated in the other chair, and he and father were talking with great animation.
The Indian was of a stout build, and wore a straw hat with a broad, red band around it; he had on a fine, black broad-cloth coat, but his trousers were shabby and his shoes were pretty well worn.
His face was bright and intelligent, and I watched it very closely as he talked in his earnest way with father, who was equally animated in answering him.
The Indian carried a rifle and a revolver—the latter being in plain sight at his waist—but I never connected the thought of danger with him as he sat there talking with father.