Smoholler turned to Oneotah.
“Give me two amulets,” he said.
The Antelope boy took two little pouches, made of skin, and richly trimmed with beads, from a kind of large pocket that he wore suspended from a belt around his waist. These were attached to strings made of different-colored strips of doe-skin twisted together. Smoholler gave one to each of the boys.
“Wear these,” he said. “They are marked with my totem, and I have charmed them. They are amulets of great power, and they will preserve you from harm. No Indian who knows Smoholler’s sign will raise his hand against the wearer of his amulet.”
“I thank you for the gift,” returned Percy Vere, “and shall always treasure it as the memento of a wonderful man.”
“And so shall I,” cried Cute. “This will be more efficacious in preserving my top-knot than Professor Ike’s Restorative, I’m thinking. Now, how shall we get back to camp? Roll a log into the river and float down upon it, or go back the way we came?”
“There is a trail along the cliff,” said Smoholler. “Oneotah will guide you a part of the way. Remember, return this evening, and I will show you a proof of my magical power that will astonish you.”
The boys promised to do so, shook hands cordially with the Prophet, notwithstanding his hideous war-paint, and followed Oneotah, who bounded lightly on before.
The way was a rough one, and they had some difficulty in keeping up with Oneotah, who sprung over the bowlders and fallen trees in the path with the nimbleness of a goat.
A toilsome tramp of an hour brought them to a beetling crag that jutted into the water, and appeared to bar all further progress in that direction. Here Oneotah paused, and the boys joined him, panting and breathless.