"Yes, can speak same, all right," came the answer, in pretty fair English. "Well, we want to know why you are hanging about our camp so much. Once before we saw you, and tried to talk with you, but you moved off. Now, away up here in the mountains you come again, sneaking around, and taking chances of being shot for a prowling wolf. Tell us why you do this? I don't believe you meant to steal anything because you've made no attempt to creep into the camp; but we want to know just why you hang around this way." "Make come back more two, three times, look at teepee, see fine picture there. Never see like before. Much good! Ugh! P'raps sell same, bimeby, when go back!" "What under the sun does he mean by that talk, Thad? Sure we ain't in the picture selling business, even if I am taking some dandy snapshots. I wonder, now, has he seen me at work; does he think I'm a traveling photograph man, and wants me to strike him off, in his warpaint and feathers?" Davy Jones managed to say all of this, but no one was paying much attention to his remarks. "Tell you what, fellers," broke in the irrepressible Giraffe, just then; "he's taken a shine to our tents, and wants to buy one when we're done with 'em. Knows a good thing when he sees it, he does. Just as if we'd let 'em go for a song, when they're cram full of associations for us." "You're not on to it yet, boys;" remarked Thad, quietly; "it's the head of the fox which we had painted so cleverly on each tent that's caught his eye; and he just can't help hanging around, to keep on gazing at it, for some reason or other." For the first time they saw a sign of emotion flit across the face of the young Indian brave. He struck himself violently on the chest. "Me Fox!" he exclaimed, proudly. "Soon me must have teepee for self. See picture fox on same, think can buy. Give much pelt for same. Ugh! what white boy say?" "Well, just to think of it, here's another Fox, all right?" called out Giraffe. "We're treading on his heels, so to speak, boys, when we take that name for our patrol. Glad to meet up with you; and by the way are you Silver Fox, Red Fox, or Black Fox; though to be sure they all belong to one family?" "I thought I ought to know him," burst out Aleck Rawson, pushing forward, "and now I'm dead sure of it. Hello! Fox, you sure must remember me, Aleck; and the good times we used to have, when I lived close to the Reservation?" The young Indian extended his hand without hesitation. "No forget Aleck, not much. But him not with other white boys down in big timber. Where come by? How do? Much glad see again. My coyote pony, Flicker, yet in the run. Ugh! Shake!"