As Reginald dismounted and walked gravely through the group to salute War–Eagle, every eye was fixed upon the bear–claw collar around his neck, and he received the silent homage which Indian warriors pay to successful valour.
There was also a quiet dignified modesty in the young man’s bearing and demeanour, which did not escape their observant and approving eyes. “My brother is welcome,” said War–Eagle, extending his hand to greet his friend; “he has killed a great chief; when the warriors tell their deeds at the war–dance, the tongue of Netis will not be silent.”
“The red man of the prairie was brave,” replied Reginald; “he died like a warrior. I trust his spirit is gone to the happy land.”
“Master Reginald,” said the guide, thrusting his large bony hand into that of our hero, “it did my heart good to see the Ingian fall; he sprang upon you like a tiger, and I feared he might catch you unawares.”
“No, Baptiste, no; he was a gallant fellow, and I am truly sorry that, in self–defence, I was obliged to kill him; but the advantages were all on my side; Nekimi was far swifter than his horse, and his knife was no match for my cutlass. Do you know to what tribe he and his party belonged?”
“Capote–bleu, Master Reginald—this is the first time you have seen Les Corbeaux—Upsaroka they call themselves; they are a wild race.” And he added, in a lower tone, “We shall see more of them before we go much further.”
“In the skirmish which they had with you, were any wounded on either side?”
“Not many, for the rascals galloped about in such an unaccountable flurry, it wasn’t easy to make sure work with the rifle; but the Doctor scored the ribs of one, and I think War–Eagle struck another; they kept at a very unfamiliar distance, and their arrows were as harmless as snow–flakes.”
“How fared it with Monsieur Perrot?” inquired Reginald, who saw the light–hearted valet grinning with satisfaction at his master’s victory and safe return, “did he not try his skill upon any of these marauding Crows?”
“Well, I hardly know,” said the guide. “Master Perrot is like the bear in the tree, he fights very well when he can’t help it; but I conceive he’s not over fond of the red–skins ever since that Dahcotah handled his wig so roughly! What say you, Monsieur Perrot?”