A LOST TRAIL
"Swift Arrow?" exclaimed Jamie, lowering his smoking rifle, as he almost rushed forward to greet his companion, in a truly English fashion, for he was heartily glad to see him again.
The Indian, however, remained cold and reserved, and his only response to the warm greeting of his paleface friend was the customary "Ugh!" which seems at times to be the only stock-in-trade of the Red Indians. The fact was, the youth was on his first war-path, and at such a time the practice of his tribe demanded deeds, not words.
"My red brother has the speed of a deer and the heart of a lion. He has seen the White Eagle, and has brought us tidings. Let him speak, and the palefaces will listen to his words," said the trapper.
After the usual pause demanded by Indian convention, the youth replied--
"White Eagle, with thirty braves, will reach the Seneca Falls at sunset. Will the palefaces continue to follow the Algonquin trail?"
"Yes," the scouts replied.
And then, without another word, Swift Arrow turned away and disappeared into the forest, almost in the direction in which he had come.
Though Jamie was now fairly acquainted with Indian manners and customs, he was rather taken aback with this abrupt departure, and would have called him back again, but the trapper said--
"Leave him alone, lad. He is only following the traditions of his race. He has followed our trail, and delivered the chief's message, and is now probably going to rejoin White Eagle. He has discharged his duty with a fidelity that many a white man might envy."