But it was the way the Redskin turned his head, keeping his body rigid, that gave the jerk to Grimwood’s nerves, providing him with a sensation he had never known in his life before—it gave him what is generally called “the goose-flesh.” It seemed to jangle his entire system, yet at the same time made him cautious. He did not like it, this combination of emotions puzzled him.
“Say something, I tell you,” he repeated in a harsher tone, raising his voice. He sat up, drawing his great body closer to the fire. “Say something, damn it!”
His voice fell dead against the surrounding trees, making the silence of the forest unpleasantly noticeable. Very still the great woods stood about them; there was no wind, no stir of branches; only the crackle of a snapping twig was audible from time to time, as the night-life moved unwarily sometimes watching the humans round their little fire. The October air had a frosty touch that nipped.
The Redskin did not answer. No muscle of his neck nor of his stiffened body moved. He seemed all ears.
“Well?” repeated the Englishman, lowering his voice this time instinctively. “What d’you hear, God damn it!” The touch of odd nervousness that made his anger grow betrayed itself in his language.
Tooshalli slowly turned his head back again to its normal position, the body rigid as before.
“I hear nothing, Mr. Grimwood,” he said, gazing with quiet dignity into his employer’s eyes.
This was too much for the other, a man of savage temper at the best of times. He was the type of Englishman who held strong views as to the right way of treating “inferior” races.
“That’s a lie, Tooshalli, and I won’t have you lie to me. Now what was it? Tell me at once!”
“I hear nothing,” repeated the other. “I only think.”