He squatted on the floor in the center of the back wall, and places had been left at his right and left for Ambrose and Simon. He was disposed to be gracious and jocular to-night.
For very slight cause, or for none at all he laughed until he shook all over. This was his way of appearing at his ease.
As they took their places Ambrose was struck by the pretty, wistful face of a girl who knelt on the floor behind Watusk. It had a fine quality that distinguished it sharply from the stolid flat countenances of her sisters.
It was more than pretty; it was tragically beautiful, though she was little more than a child. What made it especially significant to Ambrose was the fact that the girl's sad eyes instantaneously singled him out when he entered.
As he sat in front of her he was aware that they were dwelling on him. When he caught her glance, the eyes naïvely suggested that she had a communication to make to him, if she dared!
The fun had not yet commenced. The two drummers sat idle in a corner, and all the company sat in stolid silence. Only Watusk chatted and laughed. The women stared at Ambrose, and the men looked down their noses. All were somewhat embarrassed by the presence of a white man. Ambrose, looking around, was struck by the incongruity of the women's neat print dresses and the men's store clothes taken with their savage, walled faces. Such faces called for blankets, beads, war paint and eagles' feathers.
Ambrose, seeing the entire tribe gathered here as it seemed, thought a little anxiously of the flour he had been at such pains to grind.
Mackenzie's house was a good distance from the teepees, and the shack they were using for a store-house almost as far on the other side.
"Is anybody watching your flour?" he asked Watusk.
"I send four men to watch," was the reply.