“If it isn’t true it ought to be,” explained the Englishman.
[CHAPTER XI]
A MIDNIGHT INTRUDER
When the boys turned out at seven o’clock in the morning they found Sam Skinner already on the observation platform, his black pipe glowing and his eyes busy with the landscape.
“We just passed Calais,” said Sam, “where the old Sioux reservation used to begin. ’Tain’t like the old days though. They ain’t many of the old braves about now—too many clothes, store beef and wagons,” he explained. “But for about seventy-five miles—as far as Whately—ten years ago, you could a seen plenty o’ the old blanket boys hangin’ around these stations.”
“Where are they?” asked Frank.
“Most of ’em dead, I reckon,” answered Sam sucking on his pipe. “Them ’at ain’t have houses and some of ’em plows and wheat binders. But here’s some!” exclaimed the hunter springing suddenly to his feet.
At that moment, through the cloud of dust following the swiftly moving train, could be seen moving along on a near-by road, a party of Indians. Two men, their blankets drawn closely around them, walked stoutly ahead of an unpainted wagon drawn by two ponies. In the wagon a squaw, her blanket about her hips, held the reins and, clinging to the sideboards and yelling as lustily at the passing train as white urchins, three children were jumping about excitedly in the wagon bed behind.
Old Sam jerked his pipe from his mouth and, his hands to his face, emitted a cry that startled the boys. At the sound of it the two braves paused and then—as Sam repeated the call—with astounded looks they raised their right hands above their heads. “Injun for ‘howdy,’” explained Sam with a laugh as the train left the Indians far behind.