The baron clattered obediently across the stone floor with his heavy wooden shoes and dropped heavily down on the bearskin; astonishment was growing in his round face. “You vass a vite Inchun, heh?” he asked. “No, I’m a prisoner, like you.” The baron twisted his head round with a comical jerk and stared hard at the white man. “You ton’d loogk id, mine frient,” he declared. “A brisoner ton’d can come unt vent vhen he likes—nein! He is putt indo a blace like diss. Yaw, I dinks me dat iss so, unt dhe troot. You vass come here like a vree mans yet already.” The white man, who was none other than Tom Conover, did not laugh at this sally; his face had a serious, grave look. “It would take a good deal of explainin’,” he said, “to make you understand all about it—how I came to be here.” “Bud nod so mooch, py chinks, to dell how I come to pe here!” “You were captured by the Indians out on the plain there.” “You pet you!” “What was you out there for?” “Vhat vass you here for? Dell me; unt mebbe I opens oop.” “I’m goin’ to try to get you out of this.” The German came to his feet with a clatter. “Chumpin’ raddlesniks!” he cried, his eyes opening wide. “You vass nod makin’ shokes uff me?” “Certainly not,” said Conover, with the utmost seriousness. “I’m sorry you fell into the hands of these Indians, and I’ll try to get you away.” The baron clattered across the stone floor and stretched out his hand. “I shake you der hant py for dat,” he cried; “unt vhen he meeds me, I tell Puffalo Pill I have meed vun vite Inchun vat iss a shendelmans.” “You know him?” cried Conover, amazed. “Do I know heem? Veil, I dhinks me so I do. I haf his bard peen yit already. Unt I know Vilt Pill, unt old Nomat, unt all dem odder vellers vat drail rount mit heem. I know heem petter as I know eenpoty.” He was shaking Conover’s hand vigorously. “How does it happen?” “Vat? Vy, he know I vass a courageous Cherman, unt so he make me hiss bard.” “You wasn’t with him, out there?” “Nein! I vass py my lonesome selluf; I strike straighdt indo dis gountry on mine own hooks. You see dose?” He withdrew his hand and hammered on the bars of the window. “Das vass der glimmer vat I voller—I am drawed here py der shine uff golt. I git der—vat you gall id?—der golt fever.” “So you knew there was gold here? How did you find that out?” “I tidn’t knowed id, but I guessed id. I vill exblanation do you. Fairst, I vass brosbecting in dese moundains. I t’ink me as eferypoty iss afrait do come in here, den nopoty hass peen in here. You see dose boint? Yaw. So I came, mitout peing told py eenpoty.” “It was a foolish thing to do.” “Meppy so. Now it loogks id. Bud I ain’d deat yit. Uff I peen kilt soon py dese Inchuns I gan’t hellup id; unt maype, as you say, you vill gid me oudt uff here. So I make diss exblanation. I come hunding der golt for; unt look dere!” He hammered the gold bars again, clattering about noisily with the wooden shoes.