He watched them in no little interest as they ate, and came to the conclusion that they were no ordinary warriors. He knew little of the northern tribes, but from the fact that the one-eyed man wore moccasins of unmistakable Cherokee make, he guessed the two had been on a trip to the south. Having none of the Kentuckian's contempt for the Indian, Norton went on about his work quietly though watchfully, rather perplexed by the oddity of their silence. Pouring fresh powder into his pan, he set his rifle ready to hand, whereat he thought the handsome Indian smiled a little.
When they had eaten the better half of his deer, they both drew out small pipes of the precious calumet stone—a thing which in itself marked them as men of rank. Norton silently proffered them tobacco. The handsome chieftain made the ceremonial of four puffs and handed his pipe to Norton, who repeated it, thinking they would now talk. In this he was mistaken. The one-eyed man emitted a grunt as Norton made the four puffs in Indian fashion to the four quarters of the heavens, but that was all. Although he ventured a question, neither replied.
With that Norton gave a shrug, rose, and began tying his smoked meat to his saddle. He wished that he knew more about the northern redskins, for these were certainly men of some importance, but his experiences had been confined to Creek, Cherokee, and Seminole, while these two were quite clearly of a different race—whether Shawnee, Miami, Wyandot, or Ottawa he could not tell.
As he turned to pick up his rifle, the larger man rose and came forward, smiling. He reached forth an empty powder-horn, which was finely carved, and indicated by signs that Norton was to give him powder; it was not a demand, but a courteous request. Norton, at first inclined to anger, found himself suddenly impressed by this unknown Indian; having plenty of powder himself, he at length assented and poured a few charges into the empty horn.
At this, the Indian gravely proffered him a shilling—and Norton noted that it was English money. He was well aware that he was going through a remarkable experience, there being little enough money in the settlements themselves, to say nothing of Indians using it—a thing unheard of.
"You're welcome," he smiled, waving back the coin. "I don't wish payment—you're quite welcome, though I don't suppose an Indian would ever hand me out free powder."
Whether he was understood or not, he could not tell. The one-eyed man, still sitting over his pipe, grunted out something; the other turned with swift anger in his face and poured forth a flood of words. Norton guessed shrewdly that the one-eyed man had expressed entire willingness to give him free powder at any time—from the end of a rifle.
Abruptly, the friendly chief turned to Norton again, and made signs for the latter to remove his moccasins—at the same time unfastening his own. Puzzled, the Louisianian hesitated a moment and finally obeyed, seeing that the other meant it. Then the Indian held out his moccasins—ankle-high, and elaborately beaded and quilled. Norton drew back, glancing at his own torn and stained and unbeaded pair, which he had obtained from a Creek squaw on his way north.
"You mean to exchange with me?" he asked, wondering. "No, I can't do that, man! Why, those moccasins of yours are magnificent! Want to sell them?"
A lightning flash of terrible anger shot into the swarthy features, but was gone instantly. Again the Indian nodded and held out his moccasins. Understanding that he was being paid in this fashion for his hospitality, Norton reluctantly accepted, amazed that an Indian should even think of payment. When he had donned the new and unusually fine pair of the Indian, he put out his hand—and met a smiling refusal to shake.