He stopped abruptly, for at that moment an Indian was seen approaching.
He was a powerfully-built fellow, with a handsome figure and face, though the latter was very dark, and he walked with a stoop and an awkward slouching gait. He wore his long black hair in straight elfin locks; those in front having been cut across the forehead just above the eyebrows, as being the simplest method of clearing the way for vision. He was clad in a very dirty soiled hunting-shirt and leggings of leather, with moccasins of the same, and carried a long gun on his shoulder. McLeod also observed, with much satisfaction, that several partridges hung by their necks from the belt which encircled his waist.
Of course the meeting that ensued was conducted in pantomime, with a few useless remarks in English from Kenneth, who appeared to entertain an idea which is not uncommon among sailors, namely, that a man who knows nothing whatever of the language is more likely to understand bad than good English! “Where you come from?” he asked, after shaking hands with the Indian and giving him the salutation, “watchee?” (what cheer), which he understood, and returned.
A shake of the head was the reply.
“Where you go—go?” said Kenneth, in the hope apparently that emphasis might awaken intelligence.
Again the Indian shook his head.
“What’s the use of asking him?” said McLeod senior. “See, here is a language that is understood by all men.”
He pulled a powder flask from his pocket, and, shaking it at the ear of the savage, offered it to him, at the same time pointing to the partridges and to his own open mouth.
This pantomime was evidently comprehensible, for the man at once threw the birds at McLeod’s feet, and, taking the flask, emptied its contents into his own powder-horn.
“Good,” said McLeod, picking up the birds. “Now, Kenneth, if we can prevail on this redskin to remain by us it won’t be necessary to send you to Jenkins Creek.”