Ernest looked in the direction pointed out by the boy. At the distance of a hundred rods he saw a rude log-house. Smoke was curling from a chimney. Outside sat an Indian about forty years of age smoking a pipe.
He seemed busily thinking, having the grave face characteristic of the average Indian. He did not immediately notice the approach of his little son. But when they were near the Indian boy uttered a cry, pronouncing some Indian word which possibly meant “father.”
Then the red man looked up, and his grave face changed as he recognized his boy in the company of a young white stranger.
He rose hastily from his seat and advanced to meet the two who were approaching.
“What has happened?” he asked in clear and distinct English.
“Your little boy fell into the water,” explained Ernest.
“And you saved him?”
“Yes,” answered Ernest modestly. “I saw him fall and jumped in after him.”
“Was the water deep?”
“About so deep,” said Ernest, placing his hand about five feet from the ground.