They were soon within a pistol-shot of the fire, in the light of which shone the bodies of three Indians, naked as far as the waist. The Englishman’s heart beat with excitement, for as yet he had never been so close to Indians who were real savages. A few more steps and then the Indians, not to be taken altogether by surprise, sprang erect and stood with bowstrings stretched.
“Pawnees, I think,” said Dumont, reining up. He shouted some words in the Siouan dialect, and was answered by what seemed to Coke merely a series of grunts.
Again the Canadian spoke, and on receiving a brief reply moved on again.
“Come on,” he said triumphantly. “They’ve got him; they’ve got our man.”
As the two white men, stiff and hungry, got down from their saddles, the Pawnees advanced cautiously to meet them, their bows still bent. Paul, however, made some masonic motions with his hands which were 182 understood as meaning peace, and each returned his arrow to his quiver.
A conversation began which, to the Englishman, was very much worse than any Greek, and so gave him leisure to look about him. Now that his eyes had become accustomed to the glare of the fire, the first thing he saw clearly was the runaway guide, bound so tightly with thongs that the poor creature could not move an inch. Near him lay the stolen rifle and his friend’s valise, the latter disgorging papers through an opening which had been slashed along one side of it.
Regardless of a murmur of protest from the savages, young Dumont picked up the gun and handed it to its owner, and having satisfied himself that none of the papers were missing, strapped the bag across his own shoulder.
“You must pay us for them,” said the Pawnees discontentedly.
“Yes, yes; all right. Come to our camp in the morning, and we’ll give you what is reasonable. What do you propose doing with this man?”
“We shall take him to our camp.”