"Have you faith enough to follow those directions?" asked his partner.
"I certainly have."
Kelley laughed. "She may have a different set of directions to-morrow night. What do you say, Eugene? Pogos' all same fraud?"
Eugene, cowering close to the fire, needed not speech to make evident his awe of the battle-field. "Injun spirits all round," he whispered. "Hear 'em? They cry to Pogos'." He lifted a hand in warning.
"It's only the wind in the dead pines," said Kelley.
"Plenty Injun spirits. They cry!" persisted Eugene.
"There speaks the primitive man," remarked Wetherell. "Our ancestors in Ireland or Wales or Scotland all had the same awe and wonder of the dark—just as the negroes in the South believe that on certain nights the dead soldiers of Lee and Grant rise and march again."
Kelley yawned. "Let's turn in and give the witches full swing. It's certainly their kind of a night."
Eugene spoke up. "Me sleep in your tepee. Pogos' scare me plenty hard."
Ridicule could not affect him, and out of pity for his suffering Wetherell invited him to make down his bed in the doorway of his own little tent.