“Yes, and you knew it, you rascal! Oh, dear, I feel as if I was going to be eaten up alive! Why, those robes have got a thousand million things in ’em,” and Dave went to scratching again.
“I was afraid on it,” answered Barringford, and then broke out into a roar of laughter. “But, ye see, I didn’t want to alarm ye afore I was sure.” And he laughed again.
“You may think it fun but I don’t,” grumbled Dave. He felt far from laughing himself. “What in the world will I do to get rid of them? They’ll nip me to death!”
“Throw a wet log on yonder fire and stand in the smoke. They can’t stand thet nohow.”
This was the best of advice and Dave was not slow in following it. The smoke nearly choked him and made the tears run down his cheeks in a stream, but it likewise made the vermin decamp, and soon he was free of the pests.
“You can have what’s left,” he said. “I’m going to sleep outside, near the fire,” and he did, and soon Barringford joined him, to be at hand in case of unexpected peril. Strange to say the Indians did not appear to mind the vermin in the least.
After thanking the Indians for their kindness, and making Eagle Plume a present of some ornaments from one of the packs, they started on their journey up the Kinotah early the next morning. The trail was now easy, and before nightfall they covered half the distance to the trading-post, and reached another small Indian village, called Shunrum, although it is doubtful if the red men of this village shunned rum any more than did their fellows. Here the warriors were also on the hunt, and two aged red men, one so feeble he could scarcely walk, entertained them. The one who was feeble was suffering from dropsy and the medicine-man of the tribe was trying to cure him by dancing around and groaning in a sing-song fashion.
“He’ll never help it a bit,” said Dave, but Barringford cautioned the youth to be quiet.
“Don’t ye ever set yourself up against a medicine-man,” he whispered. “This is part of their religion, and if ye don’t want to git burnt ye keep off.” And Dave said no more. Yet he was sorry for the sick red man and wished there had been a real doctor at hand to attend him.
The Indians reported all quiet at the trading-post and said Dave’s father was well. They looked upon James Morris as a big white chief and treated Dave accordingly. But Dave refused to sleep in the wigwam assigned to him and said he never cared to sleep on Indian robes! This puzzled them a little, but they asked no curious questions. However, Barringford enlightened them on the quiet, and they went off with their eyes drawn up into little slits,—a sign that something had struck them as exceedingly comical.