“Warren Rody?”
Maracota nodded.
“I heard their talk,” he said.
“What did they say?” asked the young chief.
“At first, I could not hear—they spoke in whispers. After a time they grew angry. Warren abused Crookleg and struck him. The black man uttered a fierce oath and leaped over the wall of the fort at the side opposite to where I lay hid.”
“Did you hear their conversation before they quarrelled?”
“I heard the pale-face say Crookleg had only half done his errand and must return to complete it. The black refused. It was then the other got angry and struck him.”
“This is very strange, Maracota. It is some treachery I cannot understand. The negro must be found and questioned!”
“Well, Massa Injun, dat ain’t hard to do. He, he, he!”
Had the fiend of darkness himself risen between the two Indians, they could not have been more startled than when these words were uttered in their ears, for it was Crookleg who spoke.