“No such thing, Jim Barlow! That was all your own self-consciousness. They’re the nicest boys in the world and the friendliest. And it seems you can remember some things—bad ones—even if not how you ran away and got away up here to this peak. Jim, I’m ashamed of you. I certainly am!”
But the way in which she reached out and clasped his hand in both of hers disarmed the words of all offence. Jim threw back his head and laughed as he hadn’t done in many a day. It was just glorious to be scolded again by his old comrade! It was so homelike that he felt “more himself” than any softer speech would have made him.
“Well, go on! Do go on!”
“Alaric isn’t half bad. I reckon I’d have died but for him. An old Indian chief, of the Utes, White Feather Alaric called him—his brother-in-law——”
“Oh! I’m well acquainted with him. Don’t stop to tell that part, but just do go on.”
Jim stared and retorted:
“Oh! you are, eh? But I’ve got to tell about him ’cause it was he who found me and brought me here. Picked me up on the road somewhere. I’ve had a suspicion—just a suspicion, don’t you know?—that Alaric wasn’t any too glad to see me. It’s a mighty little house and he’s a mighty lazy man. But he had to do it. He’s afraid of White Feather, though I tell you, Dolly Doodles, he’s a splendid Indian. If all red men were like him——”
“I don’t care at all about Indians. Go on.”
“Alaric dressed my arm with leaves and stuff and fed me the best he could, but after I’d got that basket sent to you with the lamb and the stones—Did you get it? Did you understand?”