An imperial-looking figure stood somewhat back from the others, exceptionally tall, with finely cut profile, erect shoulders, rich copper-colored skin, and long black hair interbraided with ermine tails and crested with a perfect black and white eagle plume; over his costly buckskins he wore a brilliant green blanket, and he stood with arms folded across his chest with the air of one accustomed to command.  Beside him stood a tall, slender boy, his complete counterpart in features and dress, save that the boy’s blanket was scarlet, and he wore no eagle plume.

“What magnificent manhood!” remarked the Professor.  “No college our civilization can boast of will ever give what plain food, simple hours, and the glorious freedom of this prairie air have given that brave and his boy.  We must try to speak with them, Tony.  I wonder how we can introduce ourselves.”

“Some circumstance will lead to it, you may be sure,” said Mrs. Allan, cheerfully.  “You and Tony walk out for some fresh air.  Something will happen, you’ll see.”  And it did.

Crowds of the train’s passengers were strolling up and down when the Professor and Norton went outside.  “I wish they would not stand and stare at the Indians like that!” remarked the boy indignantly.  “The Indians don’t stare at us.”

“For the best of all reasons,” said the Professor.  “Indians are taught from the cradle that the worst possible breach of politeness is to stare.”  And just as they began a little chat on the merits of this teaching, a dapper, well-dressed passenger walked up to the distinguished Indian, and in a very loud voice said, “Good morning, friend.  I’d like to buy that eagle feather you have in your hair.  Will you sell it?  Here’s a dollar.”

Instantly Norton Allan turned angrily to the passenger.  “What do you shout at him for?” he demanded.  “He isn’t deaf because he’s Indian.”

“Oh!” said the passenger, rather sheepishly, but in a much lower tone.  Then, still raising his voice again, he persisted, “Here’s two dollars for your feather.”

The Indian never even glanced at him, but with a peculiar, half regal lift of his shoulders, hitched his blanket about him, turned on his heel, and walked slowly away.  Just then the train conductor walked past, and the bewildered passenger assailed him with, “I say, conductor, that Indian over there wouldn’t take two dollars for that chicken wing in his hair.”

The conductor laughed.  “I should think not!” he said. “‘That Indian’ is Chief Sleeping Thunder, and ten miles across the prairie there, he has three thousand head of cattle, eighty horses, and about two thousand acres of land for them to range over. He doesn’t want your two dollars.”

“Oh!” said the passenger again, this time a little more sheepishly than before; then he wisely betook himself to the train.

Meantime the boy with the scarlet blanket had not moved an inch, only let his eyes rest briefly on Norton when the latter had reproved the shouting passenger.