strove—and suddenly out popped the word, long, long unused.
"Kerr."
"What?"
"Kerr—white boy."
"Holy saints!" exclaimed Patrick Gass, astonished. "Did you hear that, George, lad? An' sure he's white, an' by the name o' him Irish! Ye'll find the Irish, wherever ye go. An' what might be your first name, me boy? Is it Pat, or Terry, or Mike?"
That was too much talk all at once, for Little White Osage. The man called George helped him out.
"How can he understand your villainous brogue, Pat! Let me talk to him." And he invited, of Little White Osage: "Kerr, you say?"
Little White Osage nodded.
"You are white?"
"Yes."
"Where'd you come from?"
"Oto."
"Where are you going?"
A boldness seized upon Little White Osage.
"You," he said. "Up big river—with 'Nited States."
"Oho!" laughed Patrick Gass. "Another recruit, is it? Does your mother say you might?"
Little White Osage shook his head. Somehow, a lump rose in his throat. "Mother?" What was "mother?" That soft white woman, who away back
