Their last sight of Toosa was one Tom would never forget; he had an arm around the shoulders of the child; behind his dwarfed figure clustered the Indian men, women and children. He lifted his long arm high in air, and made a sort of sign with his fingers.
“Great Gravy!” whispered Tom, to Bill. “Did you see that? How in the world did he come to make that sign?”
“What sign? With his fingers? Why, I suppose it’s a benediction or something.”
“He spread all his fingers wide; then he closed them tight, then spread them wide again,” gasped Tom.
“Well, what of it?” demanded Bill.
“That,” said Tom, in some awe, “that is the sign of our Mystery Boys’ order, as you very well know—the sign of ‘Goodbye, good luck and God be with you,’ that we use at parting!”
“By golly!” said Bill, and stayed silent a long time. What a coincidence that the almost savage man who lived in the woods had made such a final message without knowing, perhaps, that he did so—unless the boys had stumbled upon some ancient sign of some old cult.
After several days on the river the canoe was beached and the trio of mountaineers bade a gruff farewell to their river brethren, and, with heavy packs, of which Tom and Bill had their full share, the five started on foot for one of the most difficult and trying tramps Tom had ever experienced.
Before nightfall a small village was reached, and there the party was to stay over night.
“From what I understand, it’s proper in these parts to give our firearms to our host as a mark of good faith, for over night,” Bill told Tom.