"Suggesting our travelling with them."

"Why?" cried Dick in astonishment. "Ain't you never travelled with
Injuns before?"

"That ain't th' question. Did you notice that third Injun? the one who
didn't do any talking?"

"Sure! What of him?"

"Well, he's an Ojibway. Th' rest are Wood Crees. And I miss my guess if
he ain't a bad customer. He watched us mighty close, and his eyes are
bad. He's sharp. He's one of that wondering kind. He's wondering now who
we are, and where we're going, and why we're hitting so long a trail.
And what's more, he belongs to this Jingoss's people in a roundabout
sort of way. He's worse than fifty Crees. Maybe he knows all about
Jingoss, and if he does, he'll get suspicious the minute we angle down
into that country."

"Let's let 'em slide, then," suggested Dick, impatiently. "Let's buy
some buckskin and make our own moccasins."

"Too late now," negatived Sam. "To back out would be bad."

"Oh, well, you're just borrowing trouble anyway," laughed Dick.

"Maybe, maybe," acknowledged the other; "but borrowing trouble, and
then figuring out how you're going to meet it if it comes to you in good
earnest, is mighty good woodcraft."