"He likes you all right," announced Adrian. "Shake hands with him, Jack."
The animal lifted his right paw up to Roger, who took it in his hand.
"He's a fine bird dog," commented Adrian, the introduction over. "We'll take him along when we go hunting."
Then Jack decided he was hungry, so he raced to the house, barking loudly. The boys took the grapes into the barn, and after they had been stowed away, Adrian lifted from a basket two large fine muskmelons. Next he produced a knife and a small bag of salt, when he and Roger proceeded to eat the fruit.
"This is the way dad and I like our melons," he announced to his cousin, as he cut off a luscious slice. It didn't take long to finish the fruit, and about an hour later, after they had amused themselves by jumping around in the hay, they were quite ready for dinner, when they heard Mrs. Kimball blow the horn vigorously. They announced at the table their intention of going to the Indian Castle, and after the meal was over and they had rested up a bit they started, Jack the dog barking joyously on ahead of them.
The way to the Reservation, or the Castle, as every one in Cardiff called it, was up the main road to the north, a long level stretch of highway, lying between pleasant farm lands. The three miles seemed rather short to Roger, and after a little more than an hour's tramp, they came to a group of log cabins.
"What are those?" asked the city boy.
"Indian houses."
"Is that where they live? I thought they had tents," and Roger's voice showed his disappointment.
"These aren't wild Indians," said Adrian. "They have to live here all the year. The government gives them this land and they raise crops on it, or rather their squaws do; for the Indians let the women do most of the work, same as they did when Columbus discovered this country, as we read in our history books."