CHAPTER XI.
FURTHER EAST.
"With your lave?" said Tim O'Rooney, stepping forward and drawing the pipe of their Indian host from his mouth. The latter gazed at him in amazement but said nothing, and offered no objection to the impudent proceeding.
"I fales better," complacently added the Irishman as he emitted volume after volume of tobacco smoke. "We've had a good schlape, a good male, and I'm quieting my narves with the ould gintleman's pipe."
"It strikes me, Tim, you were rather discourteous," said Elwood. "Be careful that we do not trespass too much on his good nature."
"This is the calomel o' pace, as they calls it, and when you shmoke it it manes there's no enmity atween us. You see, the ould gintleman and meself have shmoked it together, and that makes us frinds. That is a wise shtroke of policy on the part of Tim O'Rooney, beside the comfort it gives him. Will aither of yez indulge in a few whiffs?"
Both replied that they did not use the weed in any form.
"That's right. It makes me indignant when I sees a youngster puffing away at a pipe or a segar; but never mind that, boys; do yez jist look over the top of our ould frind's head and tell me whether yez sees anything."
"I have noticed that fine-looking rifle before," replied Howard; "I only wish each of us had such a one."
"We will have that before we lave this mansion. Do ye mind that, boys?"