The Highlanders rose, but made no attempt to pursue.
“My friend,” said Bane, softly, “if that wass not an evil speerut, I will be fery much surprised.”
“No, Tonald, it wass not a speerut,” replied the other, as they returned to their fortress. “Speeruts will not be kickin’ an’ slappin’ like that; they are not corporeal.”
While these scenes were enacting on the margin of Lake Wichikagan, Lumley and Mozwa arrived at the enemy’s camp. It was a war-camp. All the women and children had been sent away, none but armed and painted braves remained.
They were holding a palaver at the time. The spot was the top of an open eminence which was so clear of underwood that the approach of a foe without being seen was an impossibility. Although the night was rather dark, Lumley and his guide had been observed the instant they came within the range of vision. No stir, however, took place in the camp, for it was instantly perceived that the strangers were alone. With the grave solemnity of redskin warriors, they silently awaited their coming. A small fire burned in their midst, for they made no attempt at concealment. They were prepared to fight at a moment’s notice. The red flames gleamed on their dusky faces, and glittered in their glancing eyes, as Lumley and Mozwa strode boldly into the circle, and stood before the chief.
Intense surprise filled the hearts of the warriors at this unexpected apparition of a white man, but not an eye or muscle betrayed the smallest symptom of the feeling.
“The pale-face is welcome,” said the chief, after a short pause.
“The pale-face is glad to meet with his dark-skinned brother, and thanks him,” returned Lumley.
If the surprise at the sudden appearance of the pale-face was great, the astonishment to find that he spoke the Indian tongue was greater; but still the feeling was not betrayed.
After a few short complimentary speeches, our hero came at once to the point.