"Look there, warrior," she said, pointing a little to the left "does that look like a man marching?"
The Indian stopped, put his hand over his eyes as a shade, to concentrate his attention, and examined for a long time the point the chief's squaw pointed out. At length he set out again, shaking his head repeatedly.
"Well, what does my brother think?" Sunbeam asked.
"It is a man," he answered; "from here it appears an Indian, and yet I either saw badly, or am mistaken."
"How so?"
"Listen: you are the wife of the first chief of the tribe, and so I can tell you this, there is something strange about the affair. A few minutes back I discovered footprints; by the direction they follow it is plain they were made by that man—the more so, as they are fresh, as if made a little while ago."
"Well?"
"These are not the footprints of a redskin, but of a white."
"That is really strange," the squaw muttered and became serious; "but are you quite sure of what you assert?"
The Indian smiled contemptuously.