"Good for fox, mebbe—but no good for Injun. Me—I'm t'ink I'm pull up dem trap, an' fin' som' nudder place."
"Pull up nothing!" cried the boy. "After all that work setting them? Buck up! What's the matter with you anyhow?"
"Dat cache—she lak you say—lak de grave cache. But dey ain' no grave! Dat mus' got to be de tamahnawus cache!"
"Tamahnawus cache!" laughed the boy. "Tamahnawuses don't make caches. And besides there ain't any tamahnawuses! Don't you remember the other tamahnawus—that turned out to be a man in a moose hide? I've heard a lot about 'em—but I never saw one yet."
'Merican Joe regarded the boy gravely. "Dat better you don't see no tamahnawus, neider. You say, 'ain' no tamahnawus, 'cos I ain' see none'. Tell me, is dere any God?"
"Why, yes, of course there's a God," answered the boy, quickly.
The Indian regarded him gravely. "Me—I ain' say, 'ain' no God 'cos I ain' see none'. I say, dat better I ain' mak' dat white man God mad. But, jus' de same, I ain' goin' mak' no tamahnawus mad, neider."
"All right," smiled Connie. "We won't make him mad, but I'm going to find out about that tamahnawus—you wait and see. I wonder who built that cache?"
"Dat Dog Rib cache," promptly answered the Indian.
"Probably the Injuns up at the village will know about it. They'll be back from Fort Norman in a few days, and I'll ask Pierre Bonnet Rouge."