Wilson sprang to his feet and held out his hand.
"Drifting Crane, how d'e do ?" The Indian bowed, but did not take the settler's hand.

Drifting Crane would have been called old if he had been a white man, and there was a look of age in the fixed lines of his powerful, strongly modeled face, but no suspicion of weakness in the splendid poise of his broad, muscular body.

There was a smileless gravity about his lips and eyes which was very impressive.
"I'm glad to see you.

Come in and get something to eat," said Wilson, after a moment's pause.
The chief entered the cabin and took a seat near the door.

He took a cup of milk and some meat and bread silently, and ate while listening to the talk of the settler.
"I don't brag on my biscuits, chief, but they _eat_, if a man is hungry enough.