Tom Smull, seeing that nothing had happened to his friends, and not enjoying the rough sallies flung toward him, took courage, coming up as the others ranged themselves around the fire. He was a short man of powerful physique, with long, sandy hair and bushy eyebrows, and wore a thick, stubby beard. The ends of a red handkerchief tucked around his neck flapped in the breeze. Nature had been sparing of its favors to the lumberman. Perhaps this was one of the reasons why Tom Smull's disposition resembled that of a surly bear.
"Yes, Wanna, we jist wanted to ask a few friendly questions," repeated Jim Reynolds. "We've hearn tell that ye know somethin' 'bout a gold mine; an' that ye've told them boys what has been stayin' over to Lovell's camp whar it is."
"An' if that ain't a fine thing to do, when men as ye hev know'd fur years is a-slavin' in the woods; an' ye could jist as well hev—"
"Cut it out, Tom Smull!" roared Jim Reynolds. "Now, Wanna, bein' as you an' me hev been sich good fren's, we kinder thought as how ye might let us in on it. Ye kin count on big Jim Reynolds doin' the squar' thing by the boys—an' you, too, Injun. An' 'sides, it ain't a bit likely them youngsters kin find it. So we know'd we jist had to ask ye, an' out ye'd come with it, eh, Wanna?"
But little daylight now filtered between the trees; gloomy darkness was fast settling over the forest; a brisk fire threw a dancing glimmer upon Wanatoma's picturesquely garbed figure and bronzed face. For an instant his beady eyes flashed strongly, then the stolid expression returned. He looked calmly at Reynolds and his rough companions, all of whom were glaring eagerly toward him.
"How does white man know?" he asked.
"How?" echoed Griffin. "Don't make no difference, Injun; we know it, an' that's enough."
"We'll do the squar' thing by ye, Wanna," Reynolds again said, persuasively. "Whar is the mine?"
Wanatoma stood silent.
"Yes! Whar is it?" roared Tom Smull, paying no heed to Reynolds' warning glances. "We're bound to know, Injun. Ain't that right, boys?"