No girl could be proof against such good manners as Frank Kent's, certainly not Jacqueline Ralston.
The Indian village was not so very far from the Simpson ranch, in the way that Western people count distances. Pretty soon the automobile party saw circles of smoke arising in the air. On a rounded green slope of the prairie near a little river was a collection of wigwams and huts.
"I am jolly glad some of the Indians still live in tepees." Frank confided to Jack. "I was dreadfully afraid that your up-to-date, government-cared-for 'Injun,' was going to be just like everybody else and wear store clothes and live in a regular American house, and then what could I have to tell my people when I go back home to England?"
Frank was staring ahead of him and for the first time since his first meeting with Jack, he had entirely gotten over his British shyness.
"Don't you worry," Jack answered gaily. "I am awfully glad you have come with us. Now you'll see the real thing! Of course, some of our Indians have been educated and civilized, but I am sure many of them are just the same in their hearts as they used to be, and would lead the same kind of lives if they had a chance. I can tell you they try to get their revenge, if you make them angry!"
There were a number of lean horses grazing near the village. The streets were dreadfully dirty and overflowing with thin, brown children rolling in the sand and playing with wolfish, half-fed dogs. In front of the rude huts or the cone-shaped tents with sheafs of poles extending through their tops, were big Indian men, as solemn, silent and terrifying as though they had been Indian war chiefs meditating on some terrible massacre. Most of them wore fringed leather trousers and had bright blankets wrapped about them. They were calmly smoking, and only barely turned their narrow eyes to glance at the automobile, as it passed by them.
Near most of the dwellings were outdoor fires, with pots boiling above them, as few of the Indians can make up their minds to use kitchen stoves instead of their familiar campfires. Old women sat near the fires, stringing bright beads, or weaving mats. Some of them were making Indian blankets on rude frames of logs, set upright some feet apart, and strung with cords, like an old-fashioned wooden loom.
The chauffeur slowed down and the girls and boys could see that the Indians were talking about their party, making queer sounds and signs to one another. The women rushed out with trinkets to sell, the children sat cross-legged in the dirt, the dogs barked and young women with babies on their backs crept out of their doors. But among the whole number, there was no sign of Laska or Josef.
Laura bought quantities of Indian bead-work and pottery. She would not let her Aunt inquire for the Indian girl's people until she had seen everything there was to be seen. Frank timidly offered Jack a string of blue beads, when he saw that Jean had accepted a small gift from Harry Pryor, and Jack received them very graciously, wishing to show that she no longer resented Frank's having made the trip.
"Can you tell me where to find the home of Laska?" Mrs. Simpson inquired of an Indian girl, who looked more intelligent than the others and spoke very good English.