As he lay intently thinking, forming and discarding plans of escape, two
Indians, followed by Little Thunder, walked quietly within the circle of
the firelight and with a nod and a grunt towards Raven sat down by
the fire. Raven passed his tobacco bag, which, without a word, they
accepted; and, filling their pipes, they gravely began to smoke.
"White Cloud," grunted Little Thunder, waving his hand to the first
Indian. "Big Chief. Him," pointing to the second Indian, "White Cloud
brother."
"My brothers had good hunting this year," said Raven.
The Indians grunted for reply.
"Your packs are heavy?"
Another grunt made answer.
"We have much goods," continued Raven. "But the time is short. Come and
see."
Raven led them out into the dark towards the pack horse, Little Thunder
remaining by the fire. From the darkness Cameron could hear Raven's
voice in low tones and the Indians' guttural replies mingled with
unusual laughter.
When they returned the change in their appearance was plainly visible.
Their eyes were gleaming with an unnatural excitement, their grave
and dignified demeanour had given place to an eager, almost childish
excitement. Cameron did not need the whiff that came to him from their
breath to explain the cause of this sudden change. The signs were to him
only too familiar.
Pages:
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407