"What did he mean by saying I had a charmed life?" asked Burton, returning to a point that had puzzled him.
"Don't know. Said that you cheated death. They have a way of giving names like that. Have you had any narrow escapes?"
"How would Washitonka know it, if I had?"
"Oh, there you get me! Perhaps Pahrunta heard talk of it."
But the suggestion did not satisfy Burton. He had the feeling that Washitonka knew more than he should--unless posted. Yet how could he have been posted? It made him feel that he must go warily.
In the afternoon he visited other teepees under Welch's chaperonage, and tried to establish a wide-spread reputation as a collector of curios and of stories. He did not go near Washitonka's teepee. He followed the same plan of procedure the next day,--and it took more self-control than he often had occasion to call upon. He gained one point by this method, however: he definitely satisfied himself that if he did not get the information he wanted in Washitonka's teepee, he might as well abandon the idea of getting it anywhere on the Reservation. There was no one else, in this little colony at any rate, who dated back to the time he wanted to probe. When he asked why there were no old people, the Agent answered tersely: "Smallpox."
That curse of the winter had swept the nomadic tribes again and again in their days of wandering, and only the younger and stronger had survived to find the comparative protection of the Reservation life. And to this younger generation the past had either no value or too emotional a value. They had forgotten its traditions, or else they refused to tell them to the stranger of today. Burton's inquiry was specific and definite: Had any white men been among them and learned how to weave baskets? To them it was a foolish question,--so foolish that they could with difficulty be persuaded to make a definite answer. Why should any white man wish to weave baskets? Could he not buy better baskets in the stores, not to mention buckets of beautiful tin? Nobody made baskets but old Ehimmeshunka.
On the third day he returned, with as casual an air as was possible, to Washitonka's teepee. Ehimmeshunka was sitting in the sunshine by the door. Washitonka was smoking some of Burton's tobacco, with an air of obliviousness, but when Burton placed himself beside Ehimmeshunka and began talking in a low voice to his interpreter, Welch, the old Indian promptly laid aside his dignity and came over to the little group by the door. Clearly he was not going to allow any conversation in his teepee without his knowledge.
There was little opportunity, however, for any asides, since Burton was under the necessity of talking through an interpreter. It was so cumbersome a method that he resolved to abandon his small attempt at diplomacy and strike boldly for what he wanted.
"Ask Washitonka if he knows Dr. Underwood. I am a friend of his," Burton said to Welch. He watched the faces of the Indians as this was translated, but he could see no glimmer of responsiveness in any face. Possibly it was merely because he did not understand the language of their unfamiliar faces any more than he did their unfamiliar tongue.