Guy Preston's actions must by this time have satisfied the reader that he was a boy who could not easily be frightened. His coming out on the prairie to shoot chickens must have convinced one of that fact. Without hesitating a moment he proceeded to disarm himself the same as the savage had done, but all he had to do was to lay down his shotgun and take off the belt containing his cartridges. His loaded Derringer he kept in his hip pocket.
"Now come on," said he, as he again mounted his horse. "He may have some weapons about him, but if he has I have my Derringer."
CHAPTER III. Winged Arrow
Guy often said that he did not see why it was that he and the savage should advance to meet each other in that cool and collected manner. If the Indian had friends who were concealed behind the swells and he was simply trying to get him further away from the Fort so that they could surround and capture him, he saw no signs to indicate it. He never looked behind him at all. He came on as though he had no suspicion, and Guy, not to be outdone by his savage confederate, came on in the same way. He had a great curiosity to see a real live Indian in his war paint, but as he drew nearer he discovered that there were no signs of paint about this Indian. It was a whiter face than people of his tribe usually boast of, and Guy thought that he was smiling in a good-natured sort of way. A few steps more and he was aware of it; and furthermore he discovered that his savage friend, if that was the name to be applied to him, was a boy but little older than himself. As soon as he approached within speaking distance he raised his hand to his bonnet with a military flourish and said, in perfect English:—
"How do you do, sir?"
Guy raised his hand to his cap, but he could not say anything in reply. The idea of being spoken to in such a manner was enough to upset him completely. He had been wondering how he would communicate with the savage and running over in his mind the various signs he had learned from the guides, signs which he could use whenever he met an Indian who did not understand his language; but to be addressed in finished English was rather more than he had bargained for. The Indian evidently enjoyed his perplexity, for after looking at him a moment or two he inquired:—
"Do you not think you are running a great risk in coming out here to shoot those little birds, while there are Sioux all around you ready to take your scalp?"
"Who are you?" said Guy, getting the better of his astonishment at last.