It was disturbing knowledge, for he knew it was not one of his comrades; but no one could have accused Dick of physical cowardice, and immediately he tiptoed round the fire to investigate, with a heart that beat a little faster than usual.
The crouching figure glanced up at him with eyes that shone like a wild animal's in the glow of the fire, and Dick, thrilling suddenly, recognised Peter Many-Names.
The Indian did not give him the usual greeting, but remained crouched as he was, staring across the fire into the black mystery of the forest. His dark face was shaken with some strange excitement, and his eyes gleamed green like a wolfs behind their grey. He seemed to be in one of those states of wild exaltation to which his race is liable; and as he crouched there, he rocked himself backwards and forwards in a sort of ecstasy.
"I-i-o-i-o-o, I-i-o, I-o-o, I-e-e!" he crooned over and over again, and at each repetition his eyes shone more wildly. He seemed unconscious of Dick's presence after the first glance, and gave himself up to his own mad mood and the odd charm of his wild chant.
Dick's nerves tingled. There seemed to be some curious rhythmic infection in the whole unexpected performance. The rocking, the swaying, the subdued, incessant crooning were fascinating him, just as they might fascinate and excite a young brave at his antelope dances. After a few minutes he fancied he felt his own senses urging him to join in the monotonous, mesmeric swaying, the soft barbaric chant.
The suggestion fairly frightened him, and he dropped his hand heavily on the Indian's shoulder.
Peter sprang to his feet, his eyes still glittering with that strange excitement. For a moment he was silent. Then he flung out his arm, lean, brown, circled with savage ornaments—flung it out with a wild gesture to the north, and began to speak.
