All felt impressed by the pathos of the old warrior’s words and manner.
“Come inside teepee,” commanded Thunderbolt. “Outside too hot.”
The interior they found a great deal more commodious than any had expected. None of the Indians attempted to follow the party, which included the half-breed and Billy Ashe, though several of the younger braves lingered near the entrance.
“This is certainly great,” pronounced Dave Brandon, promptly seating himself upon the ground.
“You bet,” agreed Larry, wiping his perspiring face.
The yellowish, translucent sides of the teepee allowed a soft dim light to pervade their surroundings, while through the partly-open flap came a glistening ray from out-of-doors.
Wandering Bear drew up a low stool in the center, the group forming a semicircle about him. Even Larry Burnham began to enjoy the novel experience. From the outside came a murmur of guttural voices, or the occasional sound of moccasined feet passing to and fro.
Although Thunderbolt displayed the usual stolidity of his race he nevertheless began to ply the boys with questions.
“Ah, you come here to hunt and fish,” he exclaimed. “Fine! You take me for guide, maybe. Me good guide; know all country. You shoot big game; catch plenty fish—what you say?”
“I should say it’s a capital idea,” said Dave, stifling a yawn; “eh, Larry?”