“It’s very plain to be seen that you’d never make a good Indian brave, Roger,” was what he told the other, and this excited the boy’s curiosity just as Dick knew would be the case.
“Tell me why,” he demanded. “I always thought I could stand pain without flinching as well as any Indian boy; and I’ve learned a lot about wild life in the bargain. Where do I fall short, Dick?”
“It’s just this way,” his cousin told him. “An Indian boy is taught never to display his feelings, no matter what he suffers inwardly. If he were struck by a poisonous rattlesnake, and could feel his body swelling, not a whimper would come from his lips.”
“Well, what has that to do with me, Dick? So far I have never been attacked by a rattlesnake, though I’ve killed plenty of the ugly varmints, I wager.”
“But you did put on a long face, and you complained because for once you missed your breakfast. Now, an Indian boy would never have said a word, but held in grimly to the end. Not that I blame you, remember, for I was hungry myself, and ready to use my gun, even before you mentioned it.”
They both laughed at that.
“We were born ‘paleface’ boys,” said Roger, “and it’s hard for the leopard to change its spots, they say. When we’re hungry we know it, yes, and we don’t mind letting other people know it, too, if that will help things along.”
Noon came and went.
They kept persistently moving forward. Occasionally they came to open places in the forest where the grass grew green, and often did they glimpse deer feeding in these glades. Once they even saw a small herd of buffaloes trooping off, having apparently winded the boys.
But Dick made no motion to use his gun again. They had all the fresh meat they required, and powder and balls were too precious to be needlessly wasted. So the afternoon came and found them keeping up that determined pace. If either of them felt tired they failed to mention the fact, which in itself was pretty positive evidence that they possessed many of the best traits of the Indian character, after all.