s for a while,
and the milch cows, and the horses and the pigs--all the stock, in
fact--had a good look at the boots. And Sitting Bull admired them so
much that he wanted to lick them, but of course that wouldn't do.

Bill Jordan had an errand at the Junction and he drove Whitey and Injun
over with him. Al Strong's store was also the postoffice, and every man,
woman, and child that happened to be there at mail-time had a fine view
of Whitey's boots. That night, when Whitey went to bed, he was quite
tired from exhibiting them.

The next day Whitey figured that about every human being and animal in
the neighborhood had seen his boots. Then he happened to think of the
Indians fishing on the river. I say _on_ the river, for it was frozen
over, with its first solid covering of ice. Now, the Indians never fish
in the summer-time. Few white people know about it, but the Indians
don't like to fish. They only eat fish when they can't hunt much. When
the Indian goes into camp for the winter, he has his provisions all
stacked to carry him through, but to be sure that these provisions will
hold out, he will eat just a little fish.

And this is the Indian's mode of fishing. He puts up a tepee right out
on the ice, and puts a blanket inside the tepee. Then he cuts a hole in
the ice, and lies down on the blanket and industriously watches the
hole. You know that fish are very inquisitive, and when Mr. Inquiring
Fish comes along to see about that hole, Mr. Indian spears him just back
of the head, pulls him out, and has fried fish for supper.

When Whitey beat it down to the river, to show his boots to a new
audience, he was followed by Injun and Sitting Bull. Trouble was
following, too,--Harrowing Trouble,--but Whitey didn't know it. On the
frozen river were about a dozen tepees, standing up something like big
stacks of cornstalks on a field of frosted glass. So there probably were
about a dozen Indians, lying on their stomachs, watching as many holes
in the ice.

There was not one of those Indians that Whitey thought should miss
seeing those boots. In the first tepee his reception was very
gratifying. Little Eagle was the owner's name, and _he_ didn't care much
about boots, but the decorations on these pleased his taste for the
gaudy, and his eyes sparkled as he grunted his praise.

So it went around the little fishing village, until Whitey entered about
the eighth tepee, and that was where Trouble was right next to him.
Inside