"I'm very well, thank you," replied the Colonel, extending his hand. But the Indian ignored the proffered cordiality.
"Be jabers, he can talk English, too, for I've heerd him," muttered Pat in a still lower key.
"Kwa wenin," next said the Indian, looking straight into the eyes of Sir George.
Pat this time remembered more fully, so he turned and spoke aloud: "He means, who are you? Tell him your name, Sir George, and he'll answer yees in English."
"Sir George Head, Colonel of the Soldiers of the Great Father."
"It is well. White Bear—Chief Micmacum tribum. Always everything two ways me speakum," replied the Indian in a dignified manner; while this time he accepted the hand of the Colonel, retaining it firmly in his own for some moments. The Micmacs, in their association with the whites, had made a strange jumble of the language. Still, White Bear's English being intelligible, a few minutes' conversation followed.
The chief had seen the scouts already, who, after telling him that Sir George and his soldiers were coming, had gone ahead to prepare for the night's camp.
Evidently from the way the chief and his braves strutted around, they had put on their best costumes in order to meet the representative of the Great Father.
White Bear was only armed with a tomahawk, but he was dressed in full Indian costume, with leggings, moccasins, hunting shirt and wampum belt; while his head dress, though of mink, was made in civilized style. The men who stood a few feet in his rear were dressed in more nondescript fashion. Two or three had muskets, and more than one hatchet and long knife could be seen beneath the blankets they wore. Further back, but outside the wigwams, the squaws were huddled together, and beyond them the children.
"Great Father send braves, Yankees you fightum?" said the Indian, feeling proud of his English.