She got up suddenly. "You don't mind if I am with you when you talk with this Indian?"
He arose and looked around for the guide who had brought him. His guide had been standing near, evidently waiting until Alan's attention was turned his way; he gestured now toward a man, a woman, and several children who were lunching, seated about a basket on the ground. The man—thin, patient and of medium size—was of the indefinite age of the Indian, neither young nor yet old. It was evident that life had been hard for the man; he looked worn and undernourished; his clothing was the cast-off suit of some one much larger which had been inexpertly altered to make it fit him. As Alan and Constance approached them, the group turned on them their dark, inexpressive eyes, and the woman got up, but the man remained seated on the ground.
"I'm looking for Jo Papo," Alan explained.
"What you want?" the squaw asked. "You got work?" The words were pronounced with difficulty and evidently composed most of her English vocabulary.
"I want to see him, that's all." Alan turned to the man. "You're Jo Papo, aren't you?"
The Indian assented by an almost imperceptible nod.
"You used to live near Escanaba, didn't you?"
Jo Papo considered before replying; either his scrutiny of Alan reassured him, or he recalled nothing having to do with his residence near Escanaba which disturbed him. "Yes; once," he said.
"Your father was Azen Papo?"
"He's dead," the Indian replied. "Not my
