"Funny they don't answer us—'nless that was an answer we heard," continued the rough voice. "Give 'em another hail in their own lingo."
A third voice was raised—in the Cahnuaga dialect, which was a corruption of the Iroquois speech and perfectly understandable to my comrades.
"Qua, O Keepers who watch," shouted the third speaker. "We acquaint you that we approach. We have with us the Red One and the Black One."
We remained quiet, but Peter possessed himself of the gun of the second Cahnuaga and placed it where he could reach it as soon as his own piece was discharged.
"That's —— funny, Tom," called the first speaker, who was plainly Bolling.
"Yaas, him —— —— funny," answered the negro.
They were approaching over the trail which forked into the one we had followed from the stream with the pebbly banks. And at this point apparently they came to the junction of the two branches.
"Hullo," commented Bolling's great voice—he spoke habitually in a roar. "Somebody come by this way."
"Mebbe them Keepers go look for us the other way," suggested Tom.
"Mought be so, but I ain't figgerin' on takin' no chances with them green arrows. French put the Injuns up to dippin' the points in rattlesnake p'ison, and I seed them try it on a poor devil of a Mohican they gathered in. I ain't hankerin' to die in no snake-snarl."