Suddenly the latter, reining in their ponies, burst into a wild war-song. It was taken up by the motley crowd following upon their ponies’ heels, and as the savage horsemen, in all the trappings of their martial bravery, paced at length into the centre of the village, the shrill, weird chorus echoing from many thousand throats, while the red light danced and glowed upon plumed crests and burnished weapons rising above the sea of fierce painted visages, the bold mind of the white adventurer was filled with admiration as he gazed upon this stirring picture which for grandeur and awesomeness left nothing to be desired.
Thus they entered the camp of the hostiles.
“Listen, Golden Face,” said Mahto-sapa, as he spread a buffalo robe for his guest. “It will not be well to wander in the camp alone.”
“No, I am a prisoner, and unarmed.”
The other smiled slightly, with a significant glance at an old leathern wallet hanging to the pole. Then he left the lodge.
The adventurer, following his glance, promptly explored the receptacle. He found an old single-barrelled pistol and a scalping-knife. The pistol was capped and loaded.