The Indian’s eyes suddenly glistened. Here was the great white’s chief’s medicine, and Red Knife was greatly interested in medicines just then! He peered closely at the cup which Cody held in his hand. The latter noticed the brave’s eagerness, and he knew instinctively what was passing through the red’s mind.
Therefore the scout made a great show of consulting the compass, holding it in his hand while the little needle waggled cheerfully to his movements, pointing ever to the north. Finally Red Knife spoke—breathlessly:
“Does the magic cup speak to Long Hair? If so, its voice is very low. Does it tell where lies the lodges of my people?”
“It does not speak. But it answers the question,” declared Cody gravely.
“A marvelous magic!” exclaimed Red Knife. “The white chief worships the spirit of the cup?”
“This is a great medicine, Red Knife,” said Cody seriously. “Now mark! We wish to know how to travel to reach the lodges of your people. Long Hair knows that we are south and west of the village. We look into the cup.”
He thrust the compass under the Indian’s nose, and Red Knife had hard work to keep from jumping back.
“Look! See the finger which moves?”
“Ugh! It is magic!” muttered the young brave.
“That finger points ever to the cold land—to the lands from which winter comes. Always to the north it points. Therefore, so standing and facing the north, my right hand points to the sunrise, my left to the sunset,” suiting the action to his words. “Behind me is the south. Therefore, by facing the sunrise and bearing off somewhat to the north of that, we approach the village of Chief Oak Heart.”