Part 29 (2/2)

”If I have had some small part in the doing of it, I feel proud.”

With that he left them, and d.i.c.k and Albert rode on into the valley of the river, in whatsoever direction their bridleless horses might carry them, although that direction was bound to be the one in which rode the group surrounding them.

Some of the squaws and boys, who caught sight of d.i.c.k and Albert among the warriors, began to shout and jeer, but a chief sternly bade them to be silent, and they slunk away, to the great relief of the two lads, who had little relish for such attention.

They were full in the valley now, and on one side of them was thick undergrowth that spread to the edge of the river. A few hundred yards father the undergrowth ceased, sand taking its place. All the warriors turned their ponies abruptly away from one particular stretch of sand, and d.i.c.k understood.

”It's a quicksand, Al,” he said; ”it would suck up pony, rider, and all.”

They left the quicksand behind and entered the village, pa.s.sing among the groups of lodges. Here they realized more fully than on the hills the great extent of the Indian town. Its inhabitants seemed a myriad to d.i.c.k and Albert, so long used to silence and the lack of numbers.

”How many warriors do you suppose this place could turn out, d.i.c.k?” asked Albert.

”Five thousand, but that's only a guess. It doesn't look much like our own valley, does it, Al?”

”No, it doesn't,” replied Albert with emphasis; ”and I can tell you, d.i.c.k, I wish I was back there right now. I believe that's the finest valley the sun ever shone on.”

”But we had to leave sometime or other,” said d.i.c.k, ”and how could we tell that we were going to run into anything like this?

But it's surely a big change for us.”

”The biggest in the world.”

The group in which they rode continued along the river about two miles, and then stopped at a point where both valley and village were widest. A young warrior, speaking crude English, roughly bade them dismount, and gladly they sprang from the ponies.

Albert fell over when he struck the ground, his legs were cramped so much by the long ride, but the circulation was soon restored, and he and d.i.c.k went without resistance to the lodge that was pointed out to them as their temporary home and prison.

It was a small lodge of poles leaning toward a common center at the top, there lashed together firmly with rawhide, and the whole covered with skins. It contained only two rude mats, two bowls of Sioux pottery, and a drinking gourd, but it was welcome to d.i.c.k and Albert, who wanted rest and at the same time security from the fierce old squaws and the equally fierce young boys.

They were glad enough to lie a while on the rush mats and rub their tired limbs. When they were fully rested they became very hungry.

”I wonder if they mean to starve us to death?” said Albert.

A negative answer was given in about ten minutes by two old squaws who appeared, bearing food, some venison, and more particularly wa-nsa, a favorite dish with the Sioux, a compound made of buffalo meat and wild cherries, which, after being dried, are pounded separately until they are very fine; then the two are pounded together for quite a while, after which the whole is stored in bladders, somewhat after the fas.h.i.+on of the white man's sausage.

”This isn't bad at all,” said Albert when he bit into his portion. ”Now, if we only had something good to drink.”

Neither of the old squaws understood his words, but one of them answered his wish, nevertheless. She brought cherry-bark tea in abundance, which both found greatly to their liking and they ate and drank with deep content. A mental cheer was added also to their physical good feeling.

”Thanks, madam,” said Albert, when one of the old squaws refilled the little earthen bowl from which he drank the cherry-bark tea.

”You are indeed kind. I did not expect to meet with such hospitality.”

The Indian woman did not understand his words, but anybody could understand the boy's ingratiating smile. She smiled back at him.

”Be careful, Al, old man,” said d.i.c.k with the utmost gravity.

”These old Indian women adopt children sometimes, or perhaps she will want to marry you. In fact, I think the latter is more likely, and you can't help yourself.”

”Don't, d.i.c.k, don't!” said Albert imploringly. ”I am willing to pay a high price for hospitality, but not that.”

<script>