had been a long time since he had heard such words. His throat swelled to answer.
"Boy," he stammered.
"I see. What boy? Oto?"
Little White Osage shook his head.
"Missouri?"
Little White Osage shook his head.
"'Maha?"
Little White Osage shook his head more vigorously.
"What tribe, then?"
Little White Osage struggled hard to reply in that language. But his throat closed tight. The young warrior was so handsome and so kind, and the broad warrior was so homely and so alert, and he himself was so small and so full of hopes and fears, that he choked. He could not speak at all.
"See what you can make out of him, Pat," bade the young warrior. "He seems afraid of me. But he understands English."
"Faith, now," drawled the bold warrior, "sure, mebbe he's wan o' them Mandan Injuns, from up-river. Haven't they the eyes an' complexion same as a white man?" And he addressed Little White Osage. "Mandan?"
Little White Osage again shook his head.
"Well, if you're not Oto or Missouri or 'Maha or Mandan, who be ye? My name's Patrick Gass; what's your name?"
The throat of Little White Osage swelled. He
