The Siwanois smiled slyly.
"Who is she? What is she, Mayaro? Is she, after all, but a camp-gypsy of the better class? I can not believe it—yet—she roves the world in tatters, haunting barracks and camps. Can you not tell me something concerning her?"
The Indian made no reply.
"Has she made you promise not to?"
He did not answer, but I saw very plainly that this was so.
Mystified, perplexed, and more deeply troubled than I cared to admit to myself, I rose from the door-sill, buckled on belt, knife, and hatchet, and stood looking out over the river in silence for a while.
The Siwanois said pleasantly, yet with a hidden hint of malice:
"If my brother desires to walk abroad in the pleasant weather, Mayaro will not run away. Say so to Major Parr."
I blushed furiously at the mocking revelation that he had noted and understood the precautions of Major Parr.
"Mayaro," I said, "I trust you. See! You are confided to me, I am responsible for you. If you leave I shall be disgraced. But—Siwanois are free people! The Sagamore is my elder brother who will not blacken my face or cast contempt upon my uniform. See! I trust my brother Mayaro, I go."