“Good mornin’, sah—sarvant, sah!” said Congo, bowing and scraping, as he caught sight of this strange individual. “Hope you’re quite well!”
The Indian bent his head a little lower, as if for the expected blow, and continued to sing.
“Neber mind de music now,” said the negro; “I’se in a hurry. Where’s all your folks?”
The old warrior looked up, and, seeing that his visitor was unarmed and was making pacific demonstrations, he gazed at and listened to him for some seconds in silence and amazement.
“Do you talky Englishy?” continued Joe, who seemed to think he would make himself more easily understood by this mode of speech.
The chief, for such he was, or had been in his better days, nodded emphatically, as if he would have said: “Yes, you have come to the right shop for English, my boy.”
What he did say was:
“Ess, me spokes him. Me Sioux, uh! Wise chief!”
“Glad you mentioned it, sah! Happy to make your acquaintance. Whare is your folks?”