That was a fearsome joy. The fire-water was ginger-ale drunk out of the bottle, which was gravely passed from hand to hand. At no other time had they ever drunk like that, and it made an occasion of it which was increased by the owlish gravity of Daddy. Then he lit his pipe and it was passed also from one tiny hand to another, Laddie taking a hearty suck at it, which set him coughing, while Baby only touched the end of the amber with her little pink lips. There was dead silence until it had gone round and returned to its owner. "Warriors of the Leatherskins, why have we come here?" asked Daddy, fingering his rifle. "Humpty Dumpty," said little John, and the children all began to laugh, but the portentous gravity of Daddy brought them back to the warrior mood. "The Prairie Wolf has spoken truly," said Daddy. "A wicked Paleface called Humpty Dumpty has taken the prairies which once belonged to the Leatherskins and is now camped upon them and hunting our buffaloes. What shall be his fate? Let each warrior speak in turn." "Tell him he has jolly well got to clear out," said Laddie. "That's not Indian talk," cried Dimples, with all his soul in the game. "Kill him, great Chief--him and his squaw, too." The two younger warriors merely laughed and little John repeated "Humpty Dumpty!" "Quite right! Remember the villain's name!" said Daddy. "Now, then, the whole tribe follows me on the war-trail and we shall teach this Paleface to shoot our buffaloes." "Look here, we don't want squaws," cried Dimples, as Baby toddled at the rear of the procession. "You stay in the wigwam and cook." A piteous cry greeted the suggestion. "The White Butterfly will come with us and bind up the wounds," said Daddy. "The squaws are jolly good as torturers," remarked Laddie. "Really, Daddy, this strikes me as a most immoral game," said the Lady, who had been a sympathetic spectator from a corner, doubtful of the ginger-ale, horrified at the pipe, and delighted at the complete absorption of the children. "Rather!" said the great Chief, with a sad relapse into the normal. "I suppose that is why they love it so. Now, then, warriors, we go forth on the war-trail. One whoop all together before we start. Capital! Follow me, now, one behind the other. Not a sound! If one gets separated from the others let him give the cry of a night owl and the others will answer with the squeak of the prairie lizard." "What sort of a squeak, please?" "Oh, any old squeak will do. You don't walk. Indians trot on the war- path. If you see any man hiding in a bush kill him at once, but don't stop to scalp him--" "Really, dear!" from the corner. "The great Queen would rather that you scalp him. Now, then! All ready! Start!"