"The baby is well. Will the mighty hunter permit himself to enter my miserable hovel and partake of some milk and cakes?"
"What do you say, Mr. Damon?" Tom asked. "She's clean and neat, and she makes a drink of goat's milk that isn't bad. She bakes some kind of meal cakes that are good, too. I'm hungry."
"All right, Tom, I'll do as you say."
A little later they were partaking of a rude, but none the less welcome, lunch in the woman's hut, while the baby whose life Tom had saved cooed in the rough log cradle.
"Say, Masni," asked Tom, addressing the woman by name, "don't you know where we can get some men to work the tunnel?" Of course Tom spoke the Indian language, and he had to adapt himself to the comprehension of Masni.
"Men no work tunnel?" she inquired.
"No, they've all skipped out—vamoosed. Afraid of some spirit."
The woman looked around, as though in fear. Then she approached Tom closely and whispered:
"No spirit in tunnel—bad man!"
"What!" cried Tom, almost jumping off his stool. "What do you mean, Masni?"