“To the camp of the blue-coats,” was the reply, in the Klamath tongue, for New York Harry had spent many years among the Klamaths, and therefore had acquired their language almost to the entire exclusion of his own. “General going to send troops after Mouseh to-morrow. He give Harry guns and pistols—see!”
He thrust the weapons forward, and in the action exposed the trio of scalps that hung at his belt—a black, a brown and a sandy scalp.
“Where get these?” and a number of savages sprung forward with cries of delight, as their chief put the interrogative.
“From their owners!” was the reply, and the story of his treachery fell from the Indian’s lips.
The red rebels listened to it, highly pleased, and at the conclusion clapped their approval.
“Where white Indian?” asked Harry, sweeping the crowd with the keenest of sloe-black eyes.
“Dead!” said Jack, laconically.
“Dead?” echoed New York Harry.
“Dead and in the black river. Jack glad he’s gone. Good spy, good scout; but a very dog!”
“Then where girl?” questioned the traitor.