In their fringed garments, quaint ornaments, and necklaces made of gaudily-colored beads or animals’ teeth, with a brave here and there wearing a feather in his hair, they presented a most picturesque sight. Grizzled old warriors, young men lithe and sinewy, and squaws crowding about regarded these white invaders of their domain intently. But on none of the coppery-colored faces turned toward them could any expression of surprise be detected.
The jabbering which commenced immediately had not the slightest meaning to any of the boys, though it served to show them the evident mastery of Teddy Banes over the Cree dialect. And it was not until a tall, good-looking youth forced his way to the front that their own voices became of use.
“Me glad to see you,” exclaimed the Indian, in very good English. “My name Thunderbolt.”
“Very happy to meet you, Mr. Thunderbolt,” drawled Larry.
“Just the same for me. My grandfather great chief. Him called Wandering Bear. You come with me. He see you.”
“Yes, we’ll be mighty glad to meet the chief,” said Bob Somers, smilingly. “How did you learn to speak English?”
“Oh, I have many fren’s. What you call him?—cowpunchers and Billy Ashe—he teach me lots of things.”
“Who’s Billy Ashe?”
The intelligent-looking brown-skinned lad, at this question, immediately swung himself around, looking earnestly toward a certain point, and evidently having seen what he wanted, uttered a grunt of satisfaction.
“Him,” he said, indicating the trooper in the scarlet jacket, now approaching with long strides.