Rather than stop to talk, they kept on riding slowly, and Spot Johnnie walked between them. They pulled up at the front cabin. Light was leaking out around the hide windows, and in its glow, Francis got his first look at Spot Johnnie as Mr. Grimes introduced them. There wasn’t really much to see. He could have been fifty or a hundred. He had a gray beard and long hair that hung well past his shoulders, and he wore beaded buckskins. There was no hat on his head; instead he wore a beaded headband to keep his hair out of his eyes. His rifle was a Hawkens. Francis liked him at once—there was a nice sound in his speech, a sort of easy confidence, and his eyes looked merry all the time.

“Figured you were always pretty much of a loner, Jason,” Spot said, eyeing Francis. “How’d you come by picking up a cub?”

While Mr. Grimes explained about Francis, a boy of perhaps ten years of age came out of the cabin and took the horses around back. Then the three of them went inside.

At first, the inside of the cabin made Francis homesick. It was all so warm and cheerful. Two children were playing on the floor beneath a huge wooden table. There was a fire in the fireplace, although it wasn’t at all cold. On one side of the cabin there were beds, arranged in bunk fashion, and all around the walls hung blankets and jackets and old moccasins. It looked like a home. And then, suddenly, he wasn’t so homesick anymore—leaning over a big kettle near the fireplace was a large Indian woman.

It startled him to see the woman, not in a lodge, but in a house. She must be Johnnie’s wife, he knew, but he caught himself staring just the same. She made him think of the Pawnee village.

As if reading his mind, Spot Johnnie suddenly spoke up. “And this is my family, Mr. Tucket. That’s my wife, Bird Dance, over by the fire, and under the table are Jared and John, and the boy you saw outside was Clarence.”

The boys under the table didn’t look out. But Bird Dance turned from the fire, smiled, and said in perfect English, “How do you do. I’m sure you must be hungry after riding all day. Please sit down and have some stew and biscuits.”

Francis managed to hide his surprise. He smiled—he liked her at once—and turned to the table. Mr. Grimes was already sitting there with Spot.

“How’ve you been making out, Spot?” Mr. Grimes asked.

“Fit,” came the answer. “Pure fit and prime. Got me a full warehouse of furs and a wagon or two due next week from St. Louis to pick ’em up. Been a good year, and it might be a better one next. And you?”