“Name Frank,” he said, touching his breast “What call you?”

“Running Elk, chief among Crees.  Long he lead them in the hunt and in battle.  But a serpent come among my people and poison all against Running Elk.  Now they think the half-breed Pierre La Motte best man to follow.  Him talk, talk, all time, and warriors dream.  Some day they wake up and know him for bad man.  Then p’raps they ask Running Elk come back again.  Wait, see!”

That was the Indian idea of patience.  Frank could understand it all now.  Plainly, a smart half-breed had managed to hypnotize the braves in the Cree village, and influence them to turn against their own chief.  When he and his family resisted they were ignominiously exiled, and sent forth to face the world without means for providing food for the squaws and pappooses.

Somehow, Frank felt a strong sense of sympathy for the old exiled chief.

“You see the rancher, Mr. Mabie.  I think he can do something for you,” he said.

“I know him.  He no like Running Elk and the Crees.  Once they take some cattle that stampede and wander far away.  Never forget or forgive that wrong.  Better not see rancher.  Go on down river soon, sell few pelts, and buy gun.  Mebbe all right.”

“No! no!  Don’t be in a hurry.  I’m sure Mr. Mabie won’t hold that old grudge against you now, and he’s a good man.  He will give you gun and powder.  Wait and see.”

Half an hour later, as he was sitting there, with a rude bandage around his throbbing head, and talking with Little Mink, who had taken a great fancy for the paleface hunter who owned the beautiful gun, Frank heard a startled exclamation from the border of the thicket near by.

“Hello, there, Jerry!  Come in and get acquainted!” he cried out, as his eyes fell upon the astonished face of his chum thrust from the scrub.

“Talk to me about surprises!  What could equal this?  Here, after getting the scare of my life, thinking my chum had been carried off by the redskins, I find him hobnobbing with them in their camp.  Sure they ain’t dangerous, Frank?” asked Jerry, advancing cautiously, with his gun held ready.

“As mild as an old lady’s cup of tea.  Wouldn’t hurt a fly.  Sit down, and I’ll tell you all about them,” said Frank.

“First, I want to know are you hurt much?  I happened on where you fell, and just imagine my alarm when I saw the print of little moccasins.  Why, I was sure some frisky red had knocked you over the head with a warclub, and then toted you off to be burned at the stake.  I followed as well as I could, bent on rescuing you at the peril of my life, to meet up with a reception like this.”

Frank was compelled to laugh at the look of evident disgust that came over the countenance of his comrade.

But when Jerry had heard all his chum knew concerning the little band of wandering Crees, his generous heart was stirred at the thought of their wrongs.