Frank Merriwell's Backers Part 47

"You've been drunk, too!" cried Merry.

"Mebbe so," admitted the Indian. "White man firewater heap good while um last; heap bad when um gone. Make um feel much glad at first, then much sorry little time after."

Frank laughed heartily at the queer manner of the old Indian as he said this.

"I suppose that's about right," he said. "I've never tried it to find out."

"Strong Heart him no try firewater?" exclaimed Joe, in surprise.

"Crowfoot him think all paleface drink the firewater."

"Well, here is one who doesn't. I've seen too much trouble come from the stuff."

"Ugh! Strong Heart him got heap more sense than anybody Joe ever see,"

a.s.serted the Indian admiringly. "Once git taste of firewater, always be heap fool and drink him some. Many times old Joe he say no drink some more. Head all swell, middle all sick, mouth all dry, taste nasty a lot, bone ache--then him say no more the firewater. Mebbe he go 'long some time, but bimeby he take it some more. White man make firewater. Bad!

bad! bad! No firewater made, n.o.body drink it."

From inside the cabin a voice called.

"What, ho! Methinks thou hast found a philosopher, Merry! Bring the sage in that I may survey him with my heavenly blue eyes."

"Yes, dew!" drawled another voice. "I want to set my eyes onter him, by gum!"

Merry led the old Indian into the cabin.

"Here he is," Merry laughed. "Crowfoot, these are some of my friends, whom you met last summer. You remember them. They played ball with me in the Mad River country."

"Ugh!" grunted the redskin. "Heap remember!"

Bart Hodge stepped forward, his hand outstretched to the Indian.

"I am glad to see you again, Crowfoot," he said.

"Me same," said Joe, shaking Bart's hand. "You heap good to ketch hard ball when Strong Heart him make it go fast like a bullet and man with stick he--whish!--strike at it so, no hit it at all."

They all laughed at the Indian's manner of describing Bart's skill at catching.

"Consarned if it ain't a sight fer sore eyes to see ye, Mr. Crowfoot!"

said Ephraim Gallup, as he froze to the redskin's hand and shook it warmly. "Yeou was the best mascot a baseball-team ever hed."

"How! how!" said the old fellow. "Nose Talk him stand way out far, ketch ball when it come there. How! how!"

"Nose Talk!" laughed Frank. "Well, that's one on you, Gallup!"

Jack Ready was smiling blandly. He gave his hand a little flirt in salute, and stepped forward with an odd movement.

"Gaze on my cla.s.sic features, Joseph Crowfoot, Esquire," he invited.

"See if you can recollect what I did in the game."

"Sure remember," nodded Crowfoot. "Talk-talk a heap, no do much else."

Then the joke was on Jack, and even Bart Hodge was forced to smile, while Gallup gave Ready a resounding smack on the shoulder with his open hand.

"Bless my punkins!" snickered the Vermonter. "That's a thunderin' good one on you, Jack!"

Ready looked sad.

"Alas!" he sighed. "Is it thus I am to be defamed! And by a copper-colored aborigine! The thought is gall to my sensitive soul! I shall peek and pine over it! For days to come no sweet smile shall adorn my beautiful features!"

Joe looked puzzled.

"No say something bad," he declared. "When Red Cheek him talk-talk a heap lot other man that throw ball he got a lot mixed, no make good pitch. Red Cheek him help win game a heap."

Jack's face cleared at once.

"Crowfoot, you have poured soothing balm on my wounded heart!" he cried. "I'm glad to know that I do amount to something, for, so help me!

of late I have begun to wonder what I was made for!"

"Sit down, Joe," invited Frank. "We're going to have breakfast in a short time, and you are to eat with us."

"Ugh!" said the Indian, disdaining a chair and sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. "Joe him do so. Him a heap empty. Mebbe after him eat him tell Strong Heart something much good to hear."

When breakfast was over the old Indian lighted his rank pipe and smoked contentedly, still sitting on the floor, with his back against the wall.

Through the open door came the sounds of work at the mine. Frank was not yet running the mine day and night, with shifts of men, but it was his intention to do so later. Smoke was rising from the high pipe of the stamp-mill, and soon the stamps began to rumble and roar, awaking the echoes of the valley. The sound was a pleasant one in Merriwell's ears.

"This running a mine in Arizona is a snap," said Jack Ready, as he elevated his feet to the top of the table, in which the breakfast-dishes and remnants of the meal remained. "The hardest part of it seems to be washing the dishes. It's Gallup's turn this morning."

"Not by a thuttering sight!" exclaimed Ephraim. "Yeou can't shoulder that onter me! You've gotter wash the dishes to-day. I done it yisterday."

"Is it possible!" cried Jack. "Why, I thought it was day before yesterday, or, perchance, the day before that. Alas, how time flies--tempus fugit!"

"Now, don't go to springin' any Latin on us!" growled Gallup. "You never learned enough Latin to hurt ye, an' ye don't want to try to show off."

"Behold how the green-eyed monster turneth a friend into a critic!" said Jack.

"You can attend to the dishes later," said Frank. "Just now I am anxious to hear the good news Crowfoot said he might have to tell. What is it, Joe?"

"Some time little while 'go, few days, you be in Holbrook?" questioned the Indian, pulling away at his pipe.

"Yes, I was there--Hodge and myself."

"Joe him been there since."

"And you bring good news from that place?"

"Heap good to Strong Heart. In Holbrook him find white woman who hate him a lot, eh? White woman she is the squaw of man who make for Strong Heart big trouble 'bout mine."

"You mean Mrs. Arlington?"