“Waugh!” exclaimed the Indian.
“Humph!” remarked the boy. “What d’ye mean by ‘Waugh,’ Oké?”
“Okématan means much that it is not in the power of the tongue to tell,” replied the Indian with increasing gravity; and as the gravity increased the cloudlets from his lips became more voluminous.
“Arch-ee hopes, nevertheless, that the tongue of Oké may find power to tell him a little of what he thinks.”
This being in some degree indefinite, the chief smoked in silence for a minute or two, and gazed at Slowfoot with that dreamy air which one assumes when gazing into the depths of a suggestive fire. Apparently inspiration came at last—whether from Slowfoot or not we cannot tell—for he turned solemnly to the boy.
“Rain comes,” he said, “and when sick men get wet they grow sicker. Carrying-places come, and when sick men come to them they stagger and fall. Frost often comes in spring, and when sick men get cold they die. Waugh!”
“Humph!” repeated the boy again, with a solemnity quite equal to that of the Red-man.
“When rain comes I can put up an umbrella—an umbrella. D’you know what that is?”
The Indian shook his head.
“Well it’s a—a thing—a sort of little tent—a wigwam, you know, with a stick in the middle to hold on to and put it up. D’you understand?”