"If you had the voice of old Stentor himself, of whom you never heard, you couldn't reach the village, which you know is more than twenty miles away."
"We will not call with our voices, Waditaka. Behold how clear the morning comes! It is the light of bright winter and there is no light brighter. The sun is rising over the mountains in a circle of burning gold and all the heavens are filled with its rays."
"You're a poet, Roka. The spell has fallen upon you."
"Against the shining blaze of the sky the smallest object will show, and a large object will be seen at a vast distance. Bring our blankets, Pehansan, and we will spread them over the little fire here."
Will laughed at himself.
"The smoke signals!" he exclaimed. "How simple the plan and how foolish I was not to think of it!"
"As I told you," said Roka, "one young warrior, no matter how wise, cannot think of everything. We will talk not with our mouths but with the blankets."
In this case the signals were quite simple. Pehansan passed the blanket twice rapidly over the fire, allowing two great coils of smoke to ascend high in the air, and then dissipate themselves there. After five minutes he sent up the two smoky circles again. The signal meant "Come."
"We will soon see the answer," said Roka, "because they are anxious about us and will be looking for a sign."
All three gazed in the direction of the village, the only point from which the reply could be sent, and presently a circle of smoke, then two, then three, rose there. Pehansan, in order to be sure, sent up the two circles again, and the three promptly replied.