“Could that have been our friend Jasper Williams?” demanded Roger, voicing the vague hope that was pounding at his own heart door.
“He was too far away for us to make sure, one way or another,” admitted Dick.
“But he seemed to be of about the same build; and, Dick, you could see nothing to prove that it was any one else, could you?”
“No, only that he was in the company of Indians,” and Dick shook his head in a way that spoke of considerable doubt.
“But then,” argued Roger, “they might be friendly Mandans, or Sioux, or even some of these Sheep-eaters we’ve heard about, who live in certain sections of the Wonderland in brush shacks.” ([Note 6].)
“Yes, that might be true, for they were too far away for us to tell from the feathers in their scalp-locks what tribe they belonged to,” the other boy admitted.
“And the last thing we heard about Jasper, from Hardy and Mordaunt, was that he was being chased by Blackfoot Indians,” Roger continued.
“Well,” Dick explained, “this white man was no prisoner, for I saw him point ahead at something, which would mean that his arms were not fastened.”
“We know that Williams is a remarkable man,” mused Roger, “and, even if those braves were of the fierce Blackfoot tribe, he might have managed in some way to have made them his friends. I know it doesn’t sound reasonable, but Jasper knows Indian character better than any white man we ever met.”
“If he could do that he would be a magician.”