Then I ceased to notice it, for I saw a couple of the Indians get up from the fireside, and come to examine us again. They felt all the knots, and appeared satisfied, going back to the fire as before, while others threw on fresh sticks. Then the smoking and talking went on, and the flames cast their shadows about, and on the trees now in a peculiarly weird way.
We were almost in darkness, but they were in what seemed to be a circle or great halo of red light, which shone upon their copper-coloured skins, and from the axes and the hilts of the knives they had stuck in the bands of their deer-skin leggings.
“Soon be quite dark now, Mass’ George,” whispered Pomp; “den you see.”
“See? See what? Their fire?”
“Wait bit—you see.”
My heart gave a great throb, and I wanted to speak, but the words in my agitation would not come. It was evident that the boy had some plan afoot, and as I waited for him to speak again, feeling ashamed that this poor black savage lad should be keener of intellect than I, he suddenly began to laugh.
“Pomp,” I whispered, “what is it?”
“You mose ready, Mass’ George?”
“Ready? What for?”
“You see dreckerly. You know what dat Injum look about for?”