no one should beat him in getting information about the young man's
earlier life; so Benny opened conversation abruptly by asking, "Where do
you begin to cut when you want to take a man's scalp off?"

"Why, who are you going to scalp, little fellow?" asked Paul.

"Oh, nobody," said Benny, in confusion. "I'd like to know, that's all."

"I'm afraid you'll have to ask some one else, then," said Paul, with a
laugh. "Try me on something easier."

"Then how do you ride a wild horse without saddle or bridle?" asked
Benny.

"Worse and worse," said Paul. "See here, Benny, have you been reading
dime novels, and made up your mind to go West?"

"Not exactly," said Benny; "but," he continued, "I wouldn't mind going
West if I had some good safe fellow to go with--some one who has been
there and knows all about it."

"Well, I know enough about it to tell you to stay at home," said Paul.

This was proof enough, thought Benny; so although he was aching to ask
Paul many other questions about Indian life, he hurried off to assure
the other boys that it was all right--that Paul was an Indian, and no
mistake. The consequence was that when Paul approached the school-house
half of the boys advanced slowly to meet him, and then they clustered
about him, and he became conscious of being looked at even more intently
than on the day of his first appearance. He did not seem at all pleased
by the attention; he looked rather angry, and then turned pale; finally
he hurried up stairs into the school-room and whispered something to the
teacher, at which Mr. Morton shook his head and patted Paul on the
shoulder, after which the boy regained his ease and took his seat.

But at recess he again found himself the centre of a crowd, no member of
which seemed to care to begin any sort of game. Paul stopped short,
looked around him, frowned, and asked, "Boys, what is the matter with
me?"

"Nothing," replied Will Palmer.

"Then what are you all crowding around me for?"

No one answered for a moment, but finally Sam Wardwell said, "We want
you to tell us stories."

"Stories about Indians," explained Ned Johnston.

Paul laughed. "You're welcome to all I know," said he; "but I don't
think they're very interesting. Really, I can't remember a single one
that's worth telling."

This was very discouraging; but Canning Forbes, who was so smart that,
although he was only fourteen years of age, he was studying mental
philosophy, whispered to Will Palm