“Whether these people know it or not, there is a white girl in the Indian camp—a young girl, too; and before we sleep, we’ll see who she is.”
CHAPTER II.
IN THE LODGE OF AKKOMI.
The earliest stars had picked their way through the blue canopy, when the men from the camp crossed over to the fishing village of the Indians; for it was only when the moon of May, or of June, lightened the sky that the red men moved their lodges to the north—their winter resort was the States.
“Dan—umph! How?” grunted a tall brave lounging at the opening of the tepee. He arose, and took his pipe from his lips, glancing with assumed indifference at the handsome young stranger, though, in reality, Black Bow was not above curiosity.
“How?” returned Overton, and reached out his hand. “I am glad to see that the lodges by the river hold friends instead of strangers,” he continued. “This, too, is a friend—one from the big ocean where the sun rises. We call him Max.”
“Umph! How?” and Lyster glanced in comical dismay at his friend as his hand was grasped by one so dirty, so redolent of cooked fish, as the one Black Bow was gracious enough to offer him.
Thereupon they were asked to seat themselves on the blanket of that dignitary—no small favor in the eyes of an Indian. Overton talked of the fish, and the easy markets there would soon be for them, when the boats and the cars came pushing swiftly through the forests; of the many wolves Black Bow had killed in 32 the winter past; of how well the hunting shirt of deer-skin had worn that Black Bow’s squaw had sold him when he met them last on the trail; of any and many things but the episode of the evening of which Lyster was waiting to hear.