OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN. 91 
ber of hideously painted and bedecked Indians. It was 
folly to resist. Grasping his rifle firmly, Mr. Button 
stood erect, and awaited their approach. The rest of 
the party followed his example, even Ted being rooted to 
the spot by utter terror. 
The new-comers did not seem in a hurry to land, but 
paddled and pushed their rafts along slowly toward shore. 
One particularly ugly-looking old fellow, alone on a raft, 
was in advance of the rest. As soon as he came within 
speaking distance, he uttered a loud harangue in a jargon 
which neither white men nor guides could understand. 
The word " Ayan " was repeated several times, and Mr. 
Button gathered, after a while, that the stranger was 
introducing himself. 
The native's next move was to push his raft in until it 
grounded, and then, looking over his shoulder to see that 
his companions were following closely, he gathered up 
his long marmot-skin blanket, and, stepping into the 
water, waded solemnly ashore. The other Indians had 
bows and arrows, but this one, who was clearly a man of 
influence in the tribe, now advanced with arms outspread, 
to show that he was unarmed. 
What in the world does the old fellow want ? " mur- 
mured Hugh. 
" Probably inquiring the way to Boston," answered 
Rob, in the same tone. " Looks as if a little civilization 
would do him good." 
The old Ayan halted at a few paces' distance, and, to 
