front of each of them was a high totem pole from which grim-looking
scalp locks and skulls and bones were suspended. He conjectured that
one of these tents would be the chief's wigwam and the other the
Medicine Lodge.

None of the Redskins took much notice of him, passing him with a mere
glance, or making a remark in a tongue which he did not understand.

A young squaw approached, carrying water. Rube signed to her, asking
for a drink. She stopped and stooped to give him one. He then made
further easily understood signs to show that he was very hungry. She
spoke to him, but he shook his head.

"Wish you c'd speak plain English," he said.

Then the squaw also began to talk in the sign language, and Rube
gathered that she did not dare to bring food to a prisoner.
Nevertheless, a little later she went past him and dropped within his
reach, as if by chance, a fragment of dry buffalo meat, which he ate
hungrily.

He was left alone for a long time. But he knew that he was being
watched, and that it would be worse than useless for him to attempt to
escape.

He saw the young Indian boys at their games of skill, or engaged in
competitions with the bow and arrow, horse racing, mounting and
dismounting while their bare-backed ponies were at the gallop, throwing
the lariat, wrestling and running, and thus training to become braves
and warriors.

At about mid-day two of the scouts who had been among his captors came
up to him and signed to him to follow them. They led him across a
foot-worn patch of grass towards the entrance of the Medicine Lodge,
where they came to a halt, standing on guard over him.

Rube wondered what was going to happen; but, watching, he began to
understand that the chief warriors and medicine men were within the
lodge, and that some sort of court of justice was being held. He
further gathered from the picture-writing on the lodge that these
Redskins were of the Crow nation, and that the tribal name of their
chief was Falling Water.

When at length he was marched into the lodge he saw the councillors
seated on the floor in a half-circle round a small fire. All of them
wore feathered war bonnets and had their faces painted.

Falling Water himself, a grim, wizen-featured old man, sat in the
middle, smoking a tobacco pipe that was shaped like a tomahawk and
adorned with coloured beads and feathers. He looked at Rube long and
steadily, and then spoke to one of the scouts inquiringly.

Rube