"I guess we must be approaching the corner of State and Madison
again!" he laughed. "We come out into the woods to commune with
nature, and find some new party butting in every time we turn
around."
"That's an Indian's foot-print!" declared Thede.
"How do you know that?" demanded Sandy. "You haven't seen any
Indian, have you? How can you tell an Indian's foot-print from any
one else's? That may be a white man's step, for all we know!"
"Nay, nay, me son!" laughed Thede. "I know by the shape of the
moccasin and by the way the fellow walks."
"You know a whole lot of things!" laughed Sandy. "If you keep on
accumulating knowledge, you'll beat Tommy out of his job as the
Sherlock Holmes of the party!"
"Well, if you don't believe he's an Indian, you'd better go and ask
him!" Thede argued. "He's right over there in the thicket!"
Sandy gave a quick start of alarm and put his hand back to his
automatic. Thede motioned him to leave his gun where it was.
"This is a friendly Indian," the boy explained. "I've often heard
Pierre refer to him. He's called Oje, but I don't know whether
that's his name or not. He's said to be the champion fisherman of
this section, and if you really want to get fish for supper, we'd
better get him interested.
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