Tad said “no,” and said it emphatically.
“No make smoke,” agreed the Indian. “Smoke want white man off yonder”–pointing to the southwest.
“How do you know that?” asked Butler.
“Smoke him go that way. Want us, smoke him go this way.”
“I never knew that before,” reflected Tad. “You see, boys, they make these signal smokes by building a smudge, then holding a blanket over the smudge. By removing the blanket and replacing it they can make a definite number of smokes, long smokes or short smokes; in fact, they can almost make words, like the telegraph. It is a wonderful thing. I wouldn’t be surprised if those signals could be made out twenty or thirty miles away, if one had eyes sharp enough to detect them.”
“But what are they signaling for?” demanded Stacy.
171“I don’t know. Anvik says it is white men. I can’t tell you anything about that. Smoke is just smoke to me. They are communicating with someone. We shan’t see them, as they must be all of ten miles away.”
“Fifteen,” corrected the guide.
“That shows how poorly a novice judges distances in this country,” nodded Butler. “They may see our fire to-night. If they are friendly we shall no doubt meet them. If they are not, we may never see a sign of them again. That is the way I reason it out.”
Anvik grunted and nodded. The Indian understood a great deal more of what was being said than one would have supposed. In fact, to look at him one would not think he had even heard anything of what was being said about him. He was the silent, impassive-faced stoic of his race.