The complete darkness, the thick, cold mist and utter silence which pervaded the clearing and made it seem certainly the most desolate place in the world as he entered it, would have depressed and frightened bolder hearts than Kingdom’s. He hurried up the familiar path, and ascended the slope to the little log house with dread. A whinny came from the stable. What a welcome sound it was! And when, five minutes later, the blaze in the big fireplace was dispelling the shadows, it seemed also to dispel the dreadful feeling of vague fear and homesickness from Ree’s mind. He was himself again.
Worn out with much work and little rest for two days, Kingdom retired early. He knew that the dispirited condition, which sapped his courage and destroyed his peace of mind and self-confidence, was due to his being completely tired out, and that sleep would make all the next day’s problems seem easy by putting him in shape to meet them. And so thinking he fell asleep.
It was near midnight, Kingdom thought, though really much earlier, when he was awakened. Some one rapped at the door,—quietly, secretly. Again he heard it,—thump, thump!—two short, quick taps, sounding as if made with finger tips.
“John!” was Ree’s first thought; and he was out of his bunk in a second.
“Who is it?” he asked in a low tone, before opening the door.
“Fishing Bird has something to tell white brother,” came the answer in tones so guarded, that, filled with wonder and anxiety, Kingdom unbarred and opened the door in a trice.
Instantly the Indian entered and Ree closed the door again. He felt, rather than saw, that the redskin was bedraggled, wet, cold and weary. He drew the visitor to the fireplace and sat him down. Though covered with ashes, the warm bed of coals gave off a comfortable degree of heat, and while the Indian leaned over the warm hearth, his host, still wondering, brought him meat and a dish of hominy.
Fishing Bird ate heartily. As he was doing so, a tiny flame, which for a second blazed up above the ashes, showed that his condition was even worse than Ree had pictured it. From the soles of his worn-out moccasins to the top of the uncombed hair falling in coarse, untidy strings about his ears and down his back, he was very wet and very dirty.
“What news, Fishing Bird?” Ree asked, when he had dressed and the visitor had eaten all he wished. “I’ve been wanting to see you for many days.”
“Ugh! Lone-Elk very bad!” the Indian replied, meditatively. “Fishing Bird watch him all day, watch him in the night, too. He goes many places, and don’t go nowhere.”