“’Tis a fine lad,” said Baptiste dryly, “and he has given us a lesson to keep a better look out; ’tis clear that he has crept down the brook, while we have been watching those galloping thieves; tie the rogue’s hands, my friend Attō, and let us scour the thicket from one end to the other. Two or three such as him within the camp in the middle of the night, would be apt to interfere with our rest.”
The prisoner having been bound, Attō proceeded with two of his warriors to search every corner of the thicket, while Baptiste with the remainder watched the various parties of horsemen who were still hovering at a distance.
Reginald was left for a few minutes alone with the youth, whom he looked at with mingled compassion and admiration, for it was clear that he had devoted his own life to obtain a triumph for his tribe; and although he had not the expressive intellectual beauty of Wingenund, nor the heroic stamp of form and feature by which War–Eagle was distinguished, yet there was a certain wild fierceness in his eye betokening a spirit that awakened a feeling of sympathy in Reginald’s breast. While looking steadfastly on the youth under the influence of these feelings, he observed that the Delawares, in their hurried anxiety to secure the prisoner, had bound the thongs so tightly round his arms as to cause a stoppage of the blood, the veins around the ligature being already swollen to a painful extent.
With the unhesitating generosity of his nature, Reginald stepped forward, and, loosening the thong, left the youth at liberty; at the same time he smiled, and, pointing to the knife in his belt, made the sign of “No,” intimating that he should not repay this benefit by using that weapon.
The quick–sighted savage understood him as plainly as if the hint had been given in his own language, for he instantly detached the knife from his belt and presented it to Reginald. There was so much natural dignity and sincerity in his manner while doing so, that our hero, in receiving his weapon, gave him in exchange a spare knife that hung in his own belt, making at the same time the Indian sign for friendship.
The nerves which were strung to endure expected torture and a lingering death, were not prepared for this unlooked–for clemency; the youth spoke a few soft words in his own tongue, looking earnestly in Reginald’s face, and had not yet recovered his self–possession, when Attō returned with his companions, to report that the prisoner must have come upon this dangerous war–path alone, as no other of his tribe was lurking in or near the thicket.
“Attō,” said Reginald, addressing the Delaware; “this youth belongs by right to the hand that took him, he is yours; I ask you to give him to me, to do with him as I like.”
“The hand and the heart of Attō are both open to Netis; he is brother to the war–chief of the Lenapé—Attō is glad to give him what he asks.”
“Attō is a brave man,” replied Reginald, “and worthy of his race; he can see that this youth is on his first war–path; he came to the camp to make himself a name; if the quick eye of Attō had not found him, there would have been a war–cry in the night—is it not so, brothers?”
The Delawares gave their usual exclamation of assent.