“Oh, there’s Blue Wolf! Hoo-oo!” Ruth’s clear halloo, accompanied by a wild flourish of her arm, created a ripple of laughter. Drawn up in a group beside the road, the girls stood impatiently waiting for Miss Drexal, who was still busy talking to the driver.
“Oh, see!” gasped Jane. “He actually waved his hand to you, Ruth! He’s not so wooden as he seems. Here he comes. He looks too fierce for comfort, though. You’d think him a regular savage scalp hunter on the war path.”
“Shh!” warned Frances. “Don’t laugh, girls, or he will think you are making fun of him. Indians are awfully touchy.”
This bit of caution chased away the smiles evoked by Jane’s criticism. By the time Blue Wolf reached them, they were ready to greet him with due solemnity.
“Camp him ready,” he remarked after he had gravely shaken hands all around. “Heap nice place.” His bright eyes fixed themselves on Ruth, as though he were seeking her especial approval.
“I am sure it is,” Ruth smiled winningly. “You must have worked very hard to get the tents up and everything in shape for us.”
“I work,” admitted Blue Wolf.
Having finished her business with the driver, who had already begun backing his horses, preparatory to turning back to Tower, Miss Drexal now joined the group, greeting the Indian in kindly fashion.
“You come now, see camp,” he invited after she had asked him a question or two. Striding ahead, he led the campers across a few yards of ground, well covered with trees and bushes, to a little natural clearing where two good-sized tents stood out whitely against the tall spruces and tamaracks that surrounded them on all sides.
“But where’s Vermilion Lake?” cried out Emmy wonderingly, as they came to a halt in front of the tents.