“Wish we knew something about him,” Bob added.
“Don’t blame you for being interested, Bob, but we like to mind our own business around here. They seem to be honest and capable and don’t interfere with what doesn’t concern them—”
“Oh, we’re not going to make blooming pests of ourselves, but we thought it would be fun to get acquainted with him. Wish he could speak English,” Jim explained.
“I don’t believe that he’s spoken to anyone since they came. His uncle speaks fairly well. He seems upstanding. There isn’t any harm in trying to make friends with the boy, but I wouldn’t—”
“Butt-in? We won’t unless he’s willing to have us. Know what he reminds me of, Bob?”
“What?”
“Some of those Indians, the chiefs, you know the fellows that are so straight, clear-eyed, and sort of fine. He seems like that, only maybe an even better sort. The Indians we see now aren’t so much like that.”
“He is a little like that, but I don’t believe he’s an Indian. Maybe he’s like they used to be a long time ago before the white men took all the pep out of them,” Bob agreed.
“I don’t know any Indians, but I never heard that they were very hard workers, not farmers I mean. It would be queer for one to be interested in that sort of thing. They like hunting—”
“Yes, that’s right. Dad said a few of them made good cow punchers, but they never got much chance to show what they might do.” Just then Corso came toward them. His face was grave but his eyes wore a pleased expression.