though still weak, and take notice. “Are you—?” I stammered. “Are you civilised?” “No,” returned the Indian, with well-bred composure. “Are you?” I could not tell whether I was or not, and with the swift, silent movements peculiar to his race, Mr. Baldwin emptied out the contents of my knapsack. He squeezed the lemon over the sardines, rubbing the mixture to a paste, cut the bread in very thin slices, and expeditiously made a pile of sandwiches. He brought me one on a burdock leaf. “How,” he said. “Fishy-Can-Dish make paleface strong. Heap good sandwich.” Trembling, I ate, and the stony features relaxed into a smile. “What part of the country did you come from?” he asked. “All over it,” I answered. “The world is my country, humanity my people, and studying Natural History my job.” “Oh,” said Mr. Baldwin. “I see. There was one of those blokes at Carlisle, but the boys chased it out of him.” I would fain have risen to my feet, but I was held back. “Don’t get excited, partner,” continued my friend, who had one of his huge paws laid on my shoulder in a way that implied intimacy. “Whose cabin is this?” “It was mine,” I explained, “until you came. Now it is yours.” “No,” replied Mr. Baldwin, “it is still yours. You are off your trolley there. I beg your pardon for my intrusion, and to-morrow I will leave you. I would go to-night, but there is no train, and I must perforce trespass upon your hospitality a little further.” “You are welcome,” I said, feebly. “It is the greatest joy of my life to have you here.” “I do not doubt it,” he rejoined. “No one who heard your simple, sincere words could think otherwise. Such fine feelings are rare in the prosaic age we live in, do you not think so?” I could only acquiesce. In fact, every time he said anything, I found that I had precisely the same point of view, and he must have thought me a very agreeable companion. My night’s rest was illuminated with vivid dreams in which the war-whoop and the tomahawk played a star part, but whenever I started
Prev.
Back
Top