we get to the front," said Jack from the depths of his blankets. "It
strikes me that it will be the cause of your sleeping on 'down' for
the rest of your life."

"I shall never sleep or rest for long, son, nor do I want a downy life,
but there is a difference between rose leaves and these bulky nuggets
prodding a fellow in the neck."

"You sleep on blankets, I sleep on the wampum," said Fox-Foot,
extracting with his slim brown fingers the "pillow" from beneath
Larry's tired head.

"All right, Foxy," murmured the man, sleepily. "The gold only goes to
itself when it goes to you. You're gold right through and through.
Good-night."

"Good-night," came Jack's voice.

"How," answered the Chippewa, after the quaint custom of his tribe.


IV

And all night long they slept the hours peacefully away, the strong,
athletic, well-knit, muscular white boy, the slender, agile, adroit
Indian side by side, their firm young cheeks pillowed on thousands and
thousands of dollars' worth of yellow gold.

With the first hint of dawn, Fox-Foot was astir. Before he left the
tent, however, he cautiously placed his sack under Larry's blanket, and