That “after awhile” was the “to-morrow” of the unrepentant—a period about which one might reasonably entertain a few grains of doubt. Jim was philosopher enough, seeing that there was no help under the circumstances to take things as a matter of course. He walked along quietly and peacefully, the Mohaves being sharp enough to keep an unremitting watch upon his every movement.
Just as night was setting in, they halted near a pile of rocks, where one of their number collected sticks, and speedily started a fire. In this portion of California during the summer season, it is generally very warm and oppressive, but the last few days had been remarkably cool, and a fire was by no means unwelcome. The cramped position of his limbs made him chilly, and he came as near to the blaze as they would permit. No food was prepared, nor did the fellow care for any.
An hour or two after dark, and while the Mohaves were pulling at their pipes, and Jim was half asleep on the ground, he heard a footstep, and, raising his head, saw near him the identical Indian with whom he had shaken hands so emphatically. The African’s complexion was such as to make him easily recognizable, and the start and glance of the red man told plainly that there was no misunderstanding upon his part.
“How do you do?” inquired Jim, with a nod of his head. “If you’ll untie my arms, I’ll shake hands with you again.”
The Indian seemed pleased in his way at meeting the man who had vanquished him so nicely. He offered no rudeness to the captive but came nearer, and, seating himself upon the ground, smoked his pipe.
This was extremely gratifying to the sable individual, for it was proof positive that the Mohave had not forgotten the kindness which he had received, and that he was well disposed toward the unfortunate African.
“How lucky dat he doesn’t know I wanted to come de gold trick ober him—don’t b’lebe he’d tink so much ob me. Tank you, I guess I’ll smoke.”
He inclined his head forward, and the pipe stem was inserted between his teeth, and he puffed at him in a style which showed that there was no pretended enjoyment on his part.
“Dat ’ere tastes good, I can tell you,” he said, with an expression on his shiny face of genuine pleasure. “I’s much obliged to you, an’ you needn’t be ’fraid ob ’fending me if you want to offer it to me to-morrer agin.”
The Mohave knowing nothing at all of English, and Jim Tubbs understanding not the first syllable of Mohave, it is not to be supposed that they got along very well in conversation. Jim tried increasing the loudness of his voice, but that did not seem to help matters, and their communication therefore took the character of signs, the African’s words being thrown in by way of embellishment.