"Well," said Jack, "let's begin right now. What is that old man doing that's riding around on the white horse, holloaing so?"
"Why that's the camp crier," said Hugh; "he's telling the news, and maybe giving the chief's orders; telling the people what the camp is to do to-morrow. Listen a minute, and I'll see if I can tell what he's saying." He held up his hand for Jack to keep silence, and after listening for a moment or two, he smiled and said, "Why, son, he's talking about you, now."
"Why that's the camp crier."—Page 146
"About me!" said Jack.
"Yes, he's telling how you fished Little Plume's girl out of the creek. You see, he's kind o' like a newspaper to the camp here; he tells them everything that's happened, and what he was saying then was, that the white boy that came into the camp with White Bull—that's me—had ridden into the river and pulled out the child of Little Plume, after she had fallen off her horse and cut her head."
"Well, that's funny," said Jack; "I never supposed that anything that I'd do would be worth telling a lot of people about."
"Well," said Hugh, "that's what he was saying then; he's getting so far off now I can't hear much of what he says. That shouting that you hear from these different lodges is men inviting their friends to come and eat and smoke with him. That's a great thing among these people; they like to have their friends come and see them, and eat with them. It's just like if I lived somewhere in the east, and asked you and your uncle, and a lot of my other friends to come and take dinner with me."
"Why," said Jack, "that's just what it must be, a regular dinner party, only, instead of writing the invitations, they shout them out from the lodge."
"That's just about the size of it," said Hugh. "Well, come on now; let's go over to the head chief's lodge, and sort o' report to him; tell him we've come. He's a good old man, and he'll be glad to see us both, I expect."