For nearly a minute Roger stood and stared at the Indian, who, despite his modern clothes was yet sufficiently a redman to make the boy wonder how in the world he ever came there. On his side the newcomer glanced at Roger by the light of the flickering fire, and a smile came on his bronzed face.
"Sagoola! Sagoola!" he repeated. "How do!"
"Oh!" said Roger, faintly comprehending that his companion had only greeted him in the Indian tongue. "Oh, how do you do yourself?"
"Fine—good," answered the Indian.
"I'm glad you came along just when you did," went on Roger. "The wild-cat had me down, and I thought I was a goner."
"Hu!" grunted the redman. "Smart boy. Light fire. Wild-cat heap 'fraid fire. Ole Johnny Green shoot 'um."
"Johnny Green?" repeated Roger in an inquiring tone.
"Yep. Me ole Johnny Green. My boy, he young Johnny Green."
"Why, I thought Indians had different names from that," said the boy. "Names like Yellow Tail, Eagle Eye, and Big Thunder."
"Hu! Good names wild Injun. Me tame Injun. Have tame name. Live to Reservation at Castle. Where yo' from?"