The man was roughly dressed, and for a moment Bunny thought he was the old hermit who lived in the lonely log cabin, and who had sold Bunny and Sue some milk the day before, when the dog had taken their pailful.
But another look, as Bunny tried to slow-up his rolling, told him it was another man. He was just as ragged as the hermit who kept a cow, but he did not have long hair, nor a long white beard, and his face was very dark.
"Oh, that's one of the Indians!" quickly thought Bunny. "Well, he saved my train all right. I'm glad of that."
With a slide and a roll Bunny reached the foot of the hill, and by catching hold of a small tree he saved himself from slipping into the water.
The Indian looked up from the toy train at which he was gazing in puzzled fashion.
"That's mine," said Bunny, speaking slowly. He knew some of the Indians who lived on a reservation in the big woods, not far from Camp Rest-a-While. Some of them could speak fairly good English and understand it. Others knew only a few words and Bunny wanted to make sure this Indian understood him.
"Huh! This you?" asked the red man, as the Indians are sometimes called.
"Yes, that's mine," said Bunny. "It's a train of cars."
"Oh, puff-puff train. Eagle Feather ride in puff-puff train once. How him go?" and he set Bunny's train down on a smooth rock, while the little boy shook the dust from his clothes and tried to comb it out of his hair with his fingers.
"It can't go now—no track—no electric current," explained Bunny. "Track up there on top of hill," he went on, motioning and speaking as slowly as he could, and with few words, so the Indian would understand.