“By the last hoptoad that was chased out of Ireland” ejaculated Digby Fordham. “I’m not going to stick my head into a bear’s lair. Friendship is all right, and fly-paper is no stickier than I am when it comes to being chums with a fellow; but don’t you think this is asking a deal too much?” and Dig looked up at his chum with a very queer look on his face.
“Hush up and come on!” exclaimed Chet. “If John Peep isn’t scared, we can’t afford to be.”
“Why not?” demanded Dig.
“Because, in all likelihood, he thinks we are a couple of cowards—”
“Whew! After what you did for him?”
“Pshaw!” said Chet. “I helped him out of trouble, yes. But I didn’t get into a particle of danger myself—you know that.”
“I don’t see why that Indian should have a poor opinion of us,” growled Digby.
“Well, he has that air. He’s different from us,” said Chet, puzzled himself to explain just what he meant. “But, you see, he acts like a grown man, while we’re only a couple of kids.”
“Whew!” ejaculated Dig again, and with an air of doubting his chum’s statement.
All this had been said in too low a tone to reach the ears of John Peep, who was some distance ahead of the white boys. Now Chet quickened his steps, and Dig came on, a little reluctantly.