But Running Water fumbled in the belt of the seemingly sleeping patriarch until he had recovered most of the silver and returned it to Congo.
Then he addressed the negro in a sort of chant, the burden of which was the duties of hospitality.
The strangers, he said, must not pay for food or rest in their tents, but were welcome to come and partake of their corn and venison, and the coldest water from their springs.
Their young men should wait upon them, and their maidens should watch their sleep, and drive off the lizard and the spotted toad from their couch.
His song being ended, he added a more prosaic but seemingly cordial invitation to Joe to go and bring his friends to the wigwams, and he pointed to the pile of game outside the hut as the source from which their bountiful feast should be supplied.
But they must come unarmed, he said, for otherwise their women would be frightened, and their little children would run and hide.
But Joe well knew that his white companions would not trust themselves so unreservedly in the power of the savages.
“T’ank you berry much,” he said, “but dey ’fraid to leave all deir rifles and ’volvers, ’cause some bad Injuns from ’nudder tribe might come along and stole ’em. Dey ’fraid to go out of sight o’ deir boats, too, ’cause dere is two little cannon in each of dem dat might get pitched into de lake.”
The Indians looked at each other in alarm at this intelligence, and even their leader seemed disconcerted; for savage men, it is well known, have a most exaggerated opinion of the power of artillery.
“What! Have my white brothers brought thunder guns here?” asked Running Water.