He cast a furtive glance of deprecation at the missionary, who still stood, listening unmoved and immovable, fixing his eyes with a look of whimsical self-communing on the ground as if waiting, steeling himself in patience till this folly should wear itself out of its own fatuity.
“Never heard of the Dogs of Hell?” Rolloweh at last asked with a tone insistently calculated to jog the refractory memory. Raymond marked with a renewal of surprise his eagerness that the officer should retract. Captain Howard frowned with impatience. What an ordeal was this! That the life of a blatant and persistent preacher—yet an old and a saintly man—should depend upon the accuracy of his recollection of Scriptural details to which he had not given more than a passing thought for thirty years. What strange unimagined whim could be actuating the Indians? He might have prevaricated had he but a serviceable phrase to fill the breach. He could not foresee the result, and he dubiously adhered to the truth.
“I have heard of Cerberus, the three-headed classical dog, you know, Mr. Morton. But I don’t remember any religious dog at all.”
There was silence for a time. Then Rolloweh began to speak again, and the voice of Captain Howard’s interpreter quavered as he proceeded to instruct his sturdy commander.
“You surely know that as you go to hell you reach a deep gulf full of fire. A pole is stretched across it, with a dog at each end. The beloved man of the king of England must know that pole right well?”
Captain Howard doggedly shook his head.
“Never heard of the pole.”
Rolloweh persisted, and the interpreter quavered after.
“The wicked—the great Capteny, precious to the hearts of the Cherokees, cannot be considered of the number—the wicked are chased by one of the dogs on to this pole, and while crossing the fiery gulf the dog at the other end shakes the pole and they fall off into Hell. Now surely the great Capteny remembers the Dogs of Hell?”
Surely Captain Howard’s face seemed incapable of such a look of supplication as he sent toward Mr. Morton, who was gazing smilingly straight at him, as if the whole session were an invented diversion for the day. The clergyman gave no intimation as to how to meet the situation, and Captain Howard reiterated sturdily—“Never heard of any religious dogs,” and lapsed into silence.