“George, we must have a swim! I never saw a finer place. Who’ll be first in?”
The Blackfoot, like most of his race, was much less fond of water than the Caucasian. Mul-tal-la smiled at the ardor of his young friends, and remarked that he would stroll down the trail to refresh his memory as to the route. Then he passed out of sight, and the boys were left to themselves.
“This is a good chance to do our weekly washing,” said George, as they began disrobing; “it’s time we attended to that.”
It was the practice of the boys and Deerfoot to look after that indispensable work at regular intervals, for they had not the excuse of the lack of opportunity, since rarely were they out of sight of water. So the brothers brought their underclothing from the pack of Zigzag and laid it on the bank to don when their swim was over. Then they cleansed that which they had taken off, as well as they could without the help of soap. I am afraid they hurried through with the task, for in a very brief time they were frolicking in the icy water and enjoying themselves as nobody in the world can enjoy himself unless he is a rugged youngster, overflowing with health and animal spirits.
They dived and swam; they splashed and tried to duck each other; their happy laughter rang out, and it seemed to them as if they could do nothing finer than spend the remainder of the day in the pool. If the first contact with the icy element gave them a shock, it also imparted an electric thrill which tingled from the crown of the head to the end of the toes, and made them shout and cry out in the wanton ecstasy of enjoyment.
But in due time they felt they had had enough and the moment had come to don their clothing again, leaving that which had been washed spread out and drying in the sunlight. They reluctantly emerged from the pool and gingerly picked their way over the pebbles.
Victor was a few paces in advance. His brother was in the act of leaving the water when Victor uttered an exclamation:
“Great Cæsar, George! Somebody has stolen our clothes!”