“White boys look strong as Indian brave,” remarked Wandering Bear. “Plenty big, you,” he added, turning toward Larry Burnham, whose huge form seemed to appear even larger in the dim light.
“Yes,” grinned Larry. “An’ a ‘promising football player’ ought to be, I s’pose; but not quite so large as you, Mr. Wandering Bear.”
The chief nodded gravely.
“I am old now,” he said—“very old. But at your age no one so strong as I; no one so quick, or shoot so straight.” He sighed. “Now the muscle is weak; the eye is dim; the hand trembles.”
“Git out! You’re more active than many a man of half your age,” laughed Billy Ashe. He turned toward the boys. “Take my advice: hire Thunderbolt as a guide. Have a good time, and forget a fellow who once wore a scarlet coat and was cowardly enough to desert.”
Tom jumped to his feet, his face flushed and excited.
“I’ll bet there never was a braver policeman among the Northwest Mounted!” he exclaimed, in a voice which fairly rang through the teepee. “Jed a coward! Well, I guess you haven’t anything on him when it comes to courage, Mr. Billy Ashe.”
“Cut it out, Tom,” advised Bob Somers.
“Too much excitement is bad for the nerves,” grinned Larry.
Ashe rose to face the angry Rambler.