she had just said to her
cousin was perfectly true, she was sorry to have been obliged to say it.

Jack had another shock as she was about to get into the Simpson motor
car. Seated on the comfortable rear seat and engaged in airy
conversation were Dan Norton and Laura Post with Mrs. Simpson beside
them. Jean and Jean's special friend, Harry Pryor occupied the centre
chairs. So Jack and Frank Kent, as the car only held seven people, were
compelled to crowd in front with the chauffeur.

"You are sure you don't mind my going over with you," said Frank Kent in
an apologetic tone and turning a deep red. "I can just as easily stay at
the ranch, if you prefer it."

No girl could be proof against such good manners as Frank Kent's,
certainly not Jacqueline Ralston.

The Indian village was not so very far from the Simpson ranch, in the
way that Western people count distances. Pretty soon the automobile
party saw circles of smoke arising in the air. On a rounded green slope
of the prairie near a little river was a collection of wigwams and
huts.

"I am jolly glad some of the Indians still live in tepees." Frank
confided to Jack. "I was dreadfully afraid that your up-to-date,
government-cared-for 'Injun,' was going to be just like everybody else
and wear store clothes and live in a regular American house, and then
what could I have to tell my people when I go back home to England?"

Frank was staring ahead of him and for the first time since his first
meeting with Jack, he had entirely gotten over his British shyness.

"Don't you worry," Jack answered gaily. "I am awfully glad you have come
with us. Now you'll see the real thing! Of course, some of our Indians
have been educated and civilized, but I am sure many of them are just
the same in their hearts as they used to be, and would lead the same
kind of lives if they had a chance. I can tell you they try to get their
revenge, if you make them angry!"

There were a number of lean horses grazing near the village. The streets
were dreadfully dirty and overflowing with thin, brown children rolling
in the sand and playing with wolfish, half-fed dogs. In front of the
rude huts or the cone-shaped tents with sheafs of poles extending
through their tops, were big Indian men, as solemn, silent and
terrifying as though they had been Indian war chiefs meditating on some
terrible massacre. Most of them wore fringed leather trousers and had
bright blankets wrapped about them. They were