“Oh, there’s some lovely years still to come before I’m thirty. But I’ve got a whole lot of past life, all the same.” Then he pointed a solemn, oracular finger at the doctor. “What white man savvys the Injun? Not you. Not me. And I’ve drifted around some, too. The map of the United States has been my home. Been in Arizona and New Mexico and among the Siwashes--seen all kinds of Injun--but I don’t savvy ’em. I know most any Injun’s better’n most any white man till he meets the white man. Not smarter, y’u know, but better. And I do know this: You take an Injun and let him be a warrior and a chief and a grandfather who has killed heaps of white men in his day--but all that don’t make him grown up. Not like we’re grown up. He stays a child in some respects till he’s dead. He’ll believe things and be scared at things that ain’t nothin’ to you and me. You take Old High Bear right on this reservation. He’s got hair like snow and eyes like an eagle’s and he can sing a war-song about fights that happened when our fathers were kids. But if you want to deal with him, you got to remember he’s a child of five.” “I do know all this,” said the doctor, interested. “I’ve not been twenty years on the frontier for nothing.” “Horacles don’t know it,” said Scipio. “I’ve saw him in the store all season.” “Well,” said the doctor, “see you to-morrow. I’ve some new patients in the ward.” “Soldiers?” “Soldiers.” “Guess I know why they’re here.” “Oh, yes,” sighed the doctor. “You know. Few come here for any other reason.” The doctor held views about how a military post should be regulated, which popular sentiment will never share. “Can I do anything for you?” he inquired. “If I could have some newspapers?” said Scipio. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” said the doctor. After that he saw to it that Scipio had them liberally. With newspapers the patient sat surrounded deep, when the Virginian, passing north on his way to Billings, looked in for a moment to give his friend the good word. That is what he came for, but what he said was:-- “So he has got false teeth?” Scipio, hearing the voice at the door, looked over the top of his paper at the visitor. “Yes,” he replied, precisely as if the visitor had never been out of the room. “What d’ y’u know?” inquired the Virginian. “Nothing; what do you?” “Nothing.” After all, such brief greetings cover the ground. “Better sit down,” suggested Scipio. The Virginian sat, and took up a paper. Thus for a little while they both read in silence. “Did y’u stop at the Agency as y’u came along?” asked Scipio, not looking up from his paper. “No.”