The chief, for such he was, or had been in his better days, nodded emphatically, as if he would have said: “Yes, you have come to the right shop for English, my boy.” What he did say was: “Ess, me spokes him. Me Sioux, uh! Wise chief!” “Glad you mentioned it, sah! Happy to make your acquaintance. Whare is your folks?” The Indian shook his head. “Don’t you understandy?” asked Joe. Again the chief made a negative gesture. “Whare’s all de Injins, and de squaws, and de papooses?” continued the negro, looking around the room. “My braves hunt. Squaws and papooses much scare and run.” “In de woods?” asked Joe, pointing that way. The chief seemed disposed to be noncommital on this point, and his visitor repeated his question. “Um, sink in the ground,” replied the Sioux, gravely pointing downward. “Debbil dey did!” said Joe, with a wondering stare; and then, after a pause, he continued: “Tell you wot, old chap, I’se very hungry.” He opened his huge mouth and pointed into it by way of explaining this remark. “Dare’s ten men back here, all berry hungry; good men, understandy?” “Good!” said the chief, echoing the word used by his guest. “Yes--goody men--all armed wid rifles and ’volvers and knives, understandy?” “Rifles, knives, ugh!” repeated the Indian. “Sackly! You understand. Now hab you got any victuals to sell?” The chief looked steadily at him a while, and then said: “Spoke him again.” “Hab you any victuals to sell?” The sachem shook his head in evident bewilderment, and Joe, taking a handful of silver coin--half and quarter dollars--laid it down beside him and asked him if he knew what it was. “Ess,” was the reply. “Me Sioux--wise chief. Know ’em.” And without more ado he took up the money and slipped it, piece by piece, inside his belt. “All righty,” said Joe. “Now, whare’s de victuals?” “Ah! No understan’ English.” “De victuals!” screamed the negro again, pointing down his widely opened mouth. “No understan’.” “Corn--venison--bear’s meat--anything to eat,” continued the pertinacious Joe, pantomiming mastication by snapping his great white teeth together like a hungry mastiff. “Ah! ah! phuff! ess! Buckle, tuckle, gon so ripta, honorable much tosh-a-long! Uh! uh!” said the chief, smiling with a sudden gleam of intelligence and trying to rise. “Dat’s it!” replied Joe. “You’ve got it now, I guess, dough I can’t say I quite understand you.” “Listen, my son!” said the chief, sinking back upon the skins from which he had partly risen. “Me great chief.” “Sartain. You tole me dat afore.” “Me much old.” “I s’spected dat ar, too.” “Me seen t’ousand moons.” “Thunder!” exclaimed Congo. “Dat must hab made it berry light!” “Now great chief going to happy hunting grounds.” “Is you, dough? Golly! Ef you’d lend me a rifle, I’d go along.” “Listen! My son wants meat?” “Yessy--very muchy.” The Sioux took out one of the silver pieces from his belt, and held it up in one hand, while he extended the other toward his visitor.