“Come,” he requested gutturally.
“I think he wants us to accompany him back to his own village,” said Dick, when they had hurried outside.
This proved to be the case. Through the brilliant, warm sunshine of late afternoon they followed the lithe young native along the path that led back to the first and larger village. Arriving there, the boys were escorted directly to the chief’s tepee, where a large crowd had gathered. The chief himself, now fully arrayed in resplendant regal garb, awaited their coming. As the small party drew up before him, he advanced solemnly, raised one arm in a commanding gesture and everyone sat down, including the chief’s son and the three boys.
“What’s the old beggar going to do now?” Sandy whispered.
“I don’t know,” Dick scratched his head in perplexity. “It’s probably a meeting of some sort.”
Toma leaned over and nudged Dick in the ribs.
“Indians make ready for big feast. Look!”
A corpulent, kindly-looking squaw, closely followed by four Indian girls, appeared suddenly in their midst, carrying huge trays or platters, which were heaped high with what looked like roasted venison. The first tray was placed on the ground in front of the chief, the next before the boys, while the remaining three were deposited at different points of vantage amongst the assembly. The hostess with her four comely helpers disappeared, only to return a moment later, bearing other trays piled with food.
Altogether it was a novel experience. It was the first time that the boys had ever attended a regal function of this kind, and they thoroughly enjoyed it. At the conclusion of the feast, the crowd fell back, forming itself in a wide circle. Within the unoccupied center space strode three grotesquely-attired braves, carrying a short section of a hollow log, over one end of which moose-hide had been tightly stretched.
The booming notes of the crude, home-made drum trembled forth its invitation to the dance. A weird, unearthly yowling was struck up. Warrior after warrior leaped into the cleared space and began spinning about, to the accompaniment of a yip-yip-yihing that reminded Dick of the howling of wolves.