he great man himself stepped forward.

"H'm. That's good. Saves a deal of seeking when folk come of
themselves." Then the speaker launched straight into the subject of
their quest.

"Now then, Mighty Hand, you and me are old friends, and we can talk
freely. You're wondering the noo what has brought us here, and you may
ken without palaver. We have come for your captives."

"Captives?" The chief looked puzzled as he repeated the word.

"Ay, captives," emphasised Mackintosh. "Perhaps you don't know the
meaning of the word."

"Mighty Hand knows the language of the pale-face. But there are no
captives in the Dacotah camp."

At this the boys felt their hearts sink. Could it be that, after all,
Mackintosh had been mistaken, or that Red Fox had deluded them? Could it
be that they had come too late?

But Mackintosh did not share these doubts. He understood the working of
the native mind too well.

"That is good," he resumed. "If the Dacotahs have no captives, then the
white men are free. They will travel back with me to their camp now!"

Instantly a stern change came over the face of the chief, and such of
the other Indians as understood English began to murmur with ominous
disapproval.

"My white brother speak not wise words," said Mighty Hand firmly. "The
fiery totem call that water-spirits suffer. What the totem call must be
answered. Only great medicine can bid the fire sleep now."

"Idiots! Fools!" exclaimed Mackintosh, for once allowing his irritation
to betray him. "Do you think that we are going to allow our own people
to suffer at the service of a lie? I tell you that we will take those
white men from your hands whether you wish it or not!"

The Indian was unmoved by the Scotsman's outburst.

"My white brother speak hot words. It saddens heart of Mighty Hand to
see anger in face of his brother. But he is wrong. The call of the
totem shall be answered when the moon is round--to-night."

How this strain of argument might have progressed it is hard to say, but
it was cut short by a cry like that of a wild beast, as Thunder-maker
sprang through the crowd, dressed in all the hideous regalia of his
profession.

"Dogs!" he cried furiously. "Do the pale-faces come to insult the great
chief of Dacotahs and say that the fiery totem lie? Ugh! Spit upon them,
Mighty Hand! Chase these dogs from the camp!"

Mackintosh had resumed his temper by now, and he turned to greet the
newcomer with a look of feigned amusem