Instead of replying to the question the Navajo again turned to his companion and carried on another conversation with him in still lower tones than before. Then abruptly rising, the Indian, who had been acting as chief spokesman, said, "I don't think we need to trouble you any more."
"Hold on a minute," said Fred. "What's your hurry?"
Both Indians had turned as if they were about to retrace their way along the steep incline by which they had approached the camp. Halting abruptly at the question, before either could speak Fred continued, "You talk a good deal like a man who has not been trained as most of the Indians I have seen around here have been."
"Yes," said the Indian, a broad smile appearing on his face as he spoke, "My name is Thomas Jefferson, in the white man's language."
"Thomas Jefferson?" demanded Grant. "Where in the world did you get that name?"
"When I went to the white man's school they gave me a white man's name."
"Where were you in school?"
"Pennsylvania."
"Is that so?" exclaimed Grant, who was especially interested in such matters.
"Yes," explained the Indian, "I was sent east by some missionaries to be educated. As I told you they gave me a white man's name and I was there three years in the school."