“Hallo! Lumley. What’s all this?” cried Macnab. “Nobody hurt, I hope?”
“I fear the Indian is hurt somewhat,” said our chief, looking down at his enemy, who lay stunned upon the floor. “Go, Max, assemble our men and fetch all the Indians.”
In a few minutes all were assembled in the hall, when Lumley, in a low, stern voice, related what had occurred, appealing to Jessie to corroborate what he said.
“Now,” he added in conclusion, turning to the Indians, “I have no quarrel with you. There lies your comrade. He has forfeited his life to me, but I forgive him. Take him away.”
Lumley said no more, as, in solemn surprise and silence, the Indians lifted up their comrade and bore him out of the hall; but he took good care to make no reference whatever to the looking-glass, and I verily believe that to this day it is believed by the red-men of that region that Lumley has eyes in the back of his head.
Chapter Eighteen.
The Mysterious Packet—Friends depart, and Lumley is caught singing.
The uncertainty of all sublunary things is a truism so trite that I do not mean to insult the reader’s understanding by attempting to prove it. I merely refer to it in order to say that the great Nor’-west is not exempt from that general rule of uncertainty.