The two lads approached the silent group with their interest thoroughly aroused.
"What's the matter, Willie John?" Charley asked of an Indian he knew.
"Chief plenty sick," said the Indian sadly. "Indians go get paleface doctor, but paleface doctor say medicine no good, chief must die, but medicine man say he cure chief for two ponies. All right, we give two ponies. Medicine man come pretty soon to cure chief. No cure, no ponies. Understand?"
Charley nodded comprehensively. "Can we go in and see the chief?" he asked.
"I guess so," said the Indian indifferently. "It no matter, I guess. Chief be dead, maybe, before medicine man comes. He have to come all the way from Big Cypress."
Charley did not wait for other permission. Lying flat on his stomach, he wriggled into the wigwam, followed by his chum. Once inside the lads found themselves in pitch darkness, save that in a distant corner a feeble rushlight, set in an earthen saucer of oil, glowed faintly. For a moment, the lads were sorry that they had been so rash in entering, for the close air of the wigwam was heavy with the sickening smell of fever. A low moaning from one corner, however, drew them on.
On a bed of boughs and skins near the rushlight lay what had been once a magnificent figure of a warrior. The rushlight was too dim to be of much use, so Walter lit match after match, while Charley bent over and examined the stricken man. The warrior was hardly more than a skeleton. The skin was drawn tightly over protruding cheek bones, and the black, beady eyes glowed with unearthly brightness in their deep sockets.
Charley felt of the Indian's cheek. It was almost hot enough to burn his hand. "We can do nothing for him," he said to his chum. "He is just skin and bones, and he cannot live long with such a fever. We had better get out of here. He may have something contagious. We were fools to come in here."
But, before the boys could reach the opening, the Indians outside began to wriggle in, each bearing a rushlight in its earthen saucer of oil. "Medicine man come," whispered Willie John, as he passed them. "Better sit down and keep still. Indians no like you go now. They get plenty angry if you go."
The boys' curiosity overcame their prudence. They were both anxious to witness the rites of the medicine man and they seated themselves among the Indians, who, after lighting their rushlights, set them together in the middle of the wigwam and sat down Turk fashion on either side of the wigwam and folded their arms across their breasts. It was a curious scene, with the dim glow of the rushlights falling on their impassive faces and black, beady eyes.