Mother was about to make a fuss over him, so, allowing her only time enough for one kiss, he grabbed his hat. Then with the parting words, "I'm going to see the Fighting Bulls—goodbye," he made a dash for the door.
"Some day maybe you'll take me, Bill," called Father after him, "I'd like to meet the Fighting Bulls, and their calf. She must be a smart little kid!"
Then the parents looked at each other and Mother's eyes were just a little bit dewy. She smiled and shook her finger at Father: "I know another Fighting Bull," she said.
"Yes, dear," said Father humbly, "and he has a splendid and plucky little calf!"
At the hogan there was much excitement. As Peanuts came galloping down the village "street" his rider saw a most unusual sight.
Chief Fighting Bull, his wife and small daughter were all grouped about an object which seemed to be attracting them. So much did it attract them that they were talking in Navajo faster and louder than Billy had ever heard them talk.
The boy jumped down from his pony and walked up to the family circle. He saw that the object of their interest was a large wooden express box, and written across it were the words:
"Bah, The Little Indian Weaver,
Daughter of Chief Fighting Bull,
Navajo Reservation, near Tuba, Arizona."
"IS IT FOR ME?"