"Yes," said Mr. Strong, "hungry and cold."
"Camp," said Kalitan, preparing to lead the way, with the hospitality of his tribe, for the Thlinkits are always ready to share food and fire with any stranger. The two boys strode off together, and Mr. Strong could scarcely help smiling at the contrast between them.
Ted was the taller, but slim even in the furs which almost smothered him, leaving only his bright face exposed to the wind and weather. His hair was a tangle of yellow curls which no parting could ever affect, for it stood straight up from his forehead like a golden fleece; his mother called it his aureole. His skin was fair as a girl's, and his eyes as big and blue as a young Viking's; but the Indian boy's locks were black as ink, his skin was swarthy, his eyes small and dark, and his features that strange mixture of the Indian, the Esquimo, and the Japanese which we often see in the best of our Alaskan cousins.
Boys, however, are boys all the world over, and friendly animals, and Ted was soon chattering away to his newly found friend as if he had known him all his life.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Kalitan," was the answer. "They call me Kalitan Tenas;[1] my father was Tyee."
"Where is he?" asked Ted. He wanted to see an Indian chief.
"Dead," said Kalitan, briefly.
"I'm sorry," said Ted. He adored his own father, and felt it was hard on a boy not to have one.