To the tepee of this extraordinary, and much-travelled person, Dusty Star went with a reluctant tread, and a feeling, which, if it was not exactly fear, was certainly one of awe. When he came at last within sight of the camp, he saw that Lone Chief was at home, smoking his pipe in the doorway of his tepee.
Dusty Star advanced slowly. When he reached the tepee he sat down in front of the medicine-man. Neither of them spoke for some time, although no one had told the boy that this was the politest way of beginning a conversation, when it is not necessary to talk about the weather. So Lone Chief gazed politely beyond Dusty Star's head, and Dusty Star stared politely at Lone Chief's moccasins, while now and then a maple leaf drifted down beside them.
When the fourth leaf had fallen, Dusty Star explained the reason of his visit.
Lone Chief waited a little before he replied, because of his habit of being very sure about his thoughts before he made words to fit them.
And while Lone Chief made his words, his gaze struck into his visitor's face with the edge of a tomahawk. Dusty Star returned the look without flinching and noted the way in which Lone Chief painted his face. And indeed it was something to observe, for across his forehead and down his cheeks went bars of black and yellow and red, as if his face were a cage to keep his eyes from rushing out.
"My grandmother has a pain here," Dusty Star began abruptly, indicating the place.
He did not say any more then, knowing that Lone Chief would know quite well why he had come, so that any further explanation would be merely throwing words away.
"When did it begin?" the medicine man asked.
"She made many noises this morning," Dusty Star answered. "She is making them all the time when she does not like herself inside."
Lone Chief remained silent.