"I will build the fire and put the kettle on for you." And Ermine was not joking in the least, though no one knew this. They were getting into the dangerous open fields, and Miss Searles urged the scout in a different direction. "Have you ever been East?" "Yes," he replied, "I have been to Fort Buford." The parasol came between them, and presently, "Would you like to go east of Buford--I mean away east of Buford," she explained. "No; I don't want to go east or west, north or south of here," came the astonishing answer all in good faith, and Miss Searles mentally took to her heels. She feared seriousness. "Oh, here are the Indians," she gasped, as they strode into the grotesque grouping. "I am afraid, Mr. Ermine--I know it is silly." "What are you afraid of, Miss Searles?" "I do not know; they look at me so!" And she gave a most delicious little shiver. "You can't blame them for that; they're not made of wood." But this lost its force amid her peripatetic reflections. "That's Broken-Shoe; that's White-Robe; that's Batailleur--oh, well, you don't care what their names are; you probably will not see them again." "They are more imposing when mounted and dashing over the plains, I assure you. At a distance, one misses the details which rather obtrude here," ventured Butler. "Very well; I prefer them where I am quite sure they will not dash. I very much prefer them sitting down quietly--such fearful-looking faces. Oh my, they should be kept in cages like the animals in the Zoo. And do you have to fight such people, Mr. Butler?" "We do," replied the officer, lighting a cigarette. This point of view was new and amusing. One of the Indians approached the party. Ermine spoke to him in a loud, guttural, carrying voice, so different from his quiet use of English, that Miss Searles fairly jumped. The change of voice was like an explosion. "Go back to your robe, brother; the white squaw is afraid of you--go back, I say!" The intruder hesitated, stopped, and fastened Ermine with the vacant stare which in such times precede sudden, uncontrollable fury among Indians. Again Ermine spoke: "Go back, you brown son of mules; this squaw is my friend; I tell you she is afraid of you. I am not. Go back, and before the sun is so high I will come to you. Make this boy go back, Broken-Shoe; he is a fool." The old chieftain emitted a few hollow grunts, with a click between, and the young Indian turned away. "My! Mr. Ermine, what are you saying? Have I offended the Indian? He looks daggers; let us retire--oh my, let us go--quick--quick!" And Ermine, by the flutter of wings, knew that his bird had flown. He followed, and in the safety of distance she lightly put her hand on his arm. "What was it all about, Mr. Ermine? Do tell me."