“It does me no harm, no harm,” he rambled on, “for I am Holy with the Fire.”
“He’s out of his head,” Red whispered to Dan. “He’s completely lost his buttons!”
The old Indian had arisen from the fire, turning dramatically toward the east. He made a picture as he stood there in the flickering firelight, his calico shirt open at the throat. In one ear he wore a single turquoise ornament.
“The male porcupine eats gum,” he entoned. “I do it in a Holy way.”
“He’s reciting parts of a chant, I think,” Brad volunteered his opinion. “Miquel hardly knows we’re here. Do you Miquel?”
The Indian went on with his chant, not even glancing at Brad or giving any indication that he had heard.
“He’s in a mental fog, all right,” Red insisted. “I’ll bet though, that he’s that old medicine man White Nose and Eagle Feather are after!”
Hearing the two names spoken, Miquel paused in his weird, meaningless chanting to stare at Red. But a responsive thought chain almost immediately was broken. He seemed to forget the two familiar names as quickly as he heard them and went on with his prattle:
“I am thinking of crossing the river.... I am thinking of going home.”
“If White Nose and Eagle Feather jump him for stealing, he won’t go anywhere!” Red remarked uneasily. “Brad, tell him why we came.”