“No, we cannot. I have a reason to respect you. I was guide to a good white man before. It is many, many years ago. Ten years and ten moons, señor.”
“He was kind to you?”
“Ah, yes, he was kind to me. I shall never forget him.”
“His name?”
“Robert—Señor Robert. I think his other name was Sinclair.”
“Samaro!” cried Tom, springing up and clasping
the astonished Indian by the hand. “That was my Uncle Robert. How pleased I am. Sit down. Here Tootu, Taoh, Oko—wind, fire, and water,—where are you? Sit down on my mat, Samaro.”
So loudly had Tom shouted, that Wind, Fire, and Water rushed into the toldo like a first-class hurricane, almost upsetting each other in their eagerness.