One after another they all followed. In any case they would be safer among the ranchmen than here in this lonelier spot, and Lemuel’s manner had been quite different from fear.
As they slowly passed around the house, whose corner hid the Barracks front view, they were wholly reassured. The lawn was wide and a good distance was still between them and the red-skinned visitors, but they could see all that was going on. The Indians had all dismounted, a lot of the cowboys had come forward to meet them, and the fine horses they rode were being led off to a still more distant and disused corral. Here the animals were turned loose, their blankets and trappings removed, and the ranchmen themselves at once setting to work to rub the fine creatures down and to supply them with ample fodder for the night. A big trough in the corral, through which running water was always piped furnished them with drink; and the entrance being secured, the attendants went back to the Barracks’ porch, that extended from one end to the other of the long, low building.
Upon the porch floor the blankets were spread and the Utes squatted on them, greatly pleased at their reception. Pipes were lighted and smoked, Captain Lem and several others joining in what looked to be a ceremony of welcome. A few of the ranchmen hurried to the Barracks’ kitchen and prepared supper for the visitors, and after this was eaten by the strange guests, sitting where they were under the porch roof, the discarded pipes were again resumed and some sort of palaver followed.
In this talk Silent Peter took the leading part. He was escorted by Captain Lem to the side of the Chief, none other than White Feather, and placed upon another blanket, handed a fresh pipe, and left to do the honors of the occasion. Meantime Captain Lem sent a messenger across to the watching youngsters, that they should come quietly to his own room at the Barracks and observe matters from that nearer point.
“But—is it safe? What does it all mean?” demanded Leslie of the man.
“Safe as can be. Why, that’s White Feather, Chief of a band of Utes and one of the best friends your father has. Fact. He’s awful disappointed, too, to find the Boss away. Came on a visit of ceremony, with the finest bucks in his band, to get acquainted and do a little horse-trading. That’s all. Silent Pete can talk Injun and has travelled not a little with this crowd, afore he settled at San Leon. Huh! Did you think they was from the Plains?”
“What’s the difference? An Indian is an Indian, isn’t he? Not to be trusted, any of them. I don’t think my father would like to have the boys treat those fellows as they’re doing. You men ought to arm yourselves and drive them off the ranch.”
The young ranchman regarded Leslie with a look of amused contempt, then retorted:
“Well, you may be a rich man’s son but what you don’t know about your own country’d fill books! All the rest afraid, too? ’Cause if you are, you’d better get out o’ sight. Captain Lem has asked White Feather to let him bring you over to meet him an’ the old feller’s said yes. He said it as if he hated to but was willin’ for Lem’s sake to do you the honor. Great Scott! Why, you young idiot, White Feather’s a great Chief, a king among his people, feels he ranks with our President, or the Czar of all the Russias! Well,—well, I’m beat. I thought ’t they had schools back east where you tenderfeet come from. I supposed you’d learned that there’s more ’n one kind of Indian in this big country. Why, sir, the difference ’twixt the Arapahoes, or the Cheyennes, and them peaceable Utes yonder—humph! Well, are you comin’ or not?”