It must have been well on towards two o'clock in the morning when Brawn emitted a low and threatening growl.
This aroused both Roland and Peggy, and the former at once seized his rifle.
Standing there in the pale moonlight, not twenty yards away, was a tall, dark-skinned, and powerful-looking Indian. In his right hand he held a spear or something resembling one; in his left a huge catapult or sling. He was dressed for comfort--certainly not for ornament. Leggings or galligaskins covered his lower extremities, while his body was wrapped in a blanket. He had no head-covering, save a matted mass of hair, in which were stuck a few feathers.
Roland took all this in at a glance as he seized his rifle and prepared for eventualities. According to the traditional painter of Indian life and customs the proper thing for this savage to have said is "Ugh!" He said nothing of the sort. Nor did he give vent to a whoop and yell that would have awakened the wild birds and beasts of the forest and every echo far and near.
"Who goes there?" cried Roland, raising his gun.
"No shootee. No shootee poor Indian man. I friendee you. Plenty friendee."
Probably there was a little romance about Roland, for, instead of saying: "Come this way then, old chap, squat down and give us the news," he said sternly:
"Advance, friend!"
But the Indian stood like a statue.
"No undahstandee foh true."