Just then the Beaver talked earnestly for a few moments with the warrior who interpreted, and returned to the Doctor.
“The Beaver-with-the-Sharp-Teeth says you gave him life when all was growing black, and he thought to see his people never more; and now he says that he rejoices that he can take his brother across the plains to where a great river runs deep down by the side of a mighty mountain, where there is silver in greater quantities than can be carried away.”
“Does the chief know of such a place?” cried the Doctor, excitedly.
“Yes; he and I have seen it often,” said the Indian.
“And will he take me there?”
“Yes; the Beaver will take his brother there, and give it all into his hands.”
“At last!” cried the Doctor excitedly. Then in a low voice, “Suppose it should not prove to be silver after all?”
“I know it is silver,” said the Indian, quietly. “Look,” he cried, taking a clumsily-made ring from his medicine-bag. “That came from there, so did the ring upon the lariat of the chief.”
“Ask him when he will take me there!” cried the Doctor.
“He says now,” replied the Indian, smiling at the Doctor’s eagerness and excitement. “It is a long way, and the plains are hot, and there is little water; but we can hunt as we go, and all will be well.”