“It is he!” I heard the Doctor whisper at my elbow. “I know him by his great height and the scar upon his chin.”
And he stepped forward slowly across the fallen stone with his hand outstretched to the red man.
Presently the Indian uncovered his eyes. And I saw that they had a curious piercing gleam in them—like the eyes of an eagle, but kinder and more gentle. He slowly raised his right arm, the rest of him still and motionless like a statue, and took the Doctor’s hand in his. It was a great moment. Polynesia nodded to me in a knowing, satisfied kind of way. And I heard old Bumpo sniffle sentimentally.
Then the Doctor tried to speak to Long Arrow. But the Indian knew no English of course, and the Doctor knew no Indian. Presently, to my surprise, I heard the Doctor trying him in different animal languages.
“It was a great moment”
“How do you do?” he said in dog-talk; “I am glad to see you,” in horse-signs; “How long have you been buried?” in deer-language. Still the Indian made no move but stood there, straight and stiff, understanding not a word.
The Doctor tried again, in several other animal dialects. But with no result.
Till at last he came to the language of eagles.
“Great Red-Skin,” he said in the fierce screams and short grunts that the big birds use, “never have I been so glad in all my life as I am to-day to find you still alive.”