ple to look around in quest of the
unknown friend.

They saw him at the first glance.

"There he is! Look at him!" whispered Tim Brophy.

Less than a hundred yards away stood an Indian warrior, calmly watching
them. He had mounted a bowlder, so that his figure was brought out in
clear relief. He was in Indian costume, most of it being hidden by a
heavy blanket gathered around the shoulders, but the leggings and
moccasons showed beneath, and the head was ornamented with stained
eagle-feathers. The noticeable fact about him, however, was that his
black hair was short, and the feathers were fixed in a sort of band,
which clasped the forehead. The rather pleasing face was fantastically
daubed with paint, and he held a fine rifle in his right hand, the other
being concealed under his blanket.

His action, or rather want of action, was striking. The bowlder which
supported him was no more stationary than he. He gazed fixedly at the
youths, but made no signs and uttered no word.

"Begorra, but he's a shtrange gintleman," muttered Tim. "I wonder if
he's posin' for his picter."

"His firing of the gun proves that he is a friend," said Warren; "so we
have nothing to fear from him."

"If that's the case why doesn't he come forward and interdooce himself?
whisht now!"

What did the Irishman do but pucker up his mouth, whistle, and beckon to
the Indian to approach. The latter, however, did not move a muscle.

"Helloa!" called Warren; "we thank you for your kindness; won't you come
forward and join us?"

This appeal was as fruitless as the other.

"If the copper gintleman won't come to us I'm going to him."

It was just like Tim to start forward to carry out his intention, though
a sense of delicacy restrained his companion from joining him. The
Indian, however, nipped the little scheme in the bud.

The Irishman had taken only two or three steps, when the Sioux, as he
evidently was, turned about, leaped lightly down from the bowlder, and
vanished.

"Well, I'll be hanged!" exclaimed the disappointed Tim, stopping short;
"ye may be a good rifle shot, but be the same token ye are not fond of
selict company," and with a laugh he walked back to his friend, whose
face was so grave as to attract the notice of the Irishman.

"What's the matter, Warren?"

"Do you know who that Indian is?"

"I niver have saan him before."

"Yes, you have, many a time; he's been at our house within the past few
weeks."

"Who is he?"