e freaks of Nature that they had ever
heard about.

Then they became aware of a strange sound that reached them from no
great distance through the trees. It was a most remarkable sound--not
that of any animal with which they were familiar; indeed, it was not a
sound that suggested any beast or bird.

"What on earth is it?" questioned Alf, as the weird wail sighed through
the forest.

"It sounds like a harmonium in distress!" replied Bob, with a slight
laugh. And even as he spoke the wail was repeated, though this time
could be distinctly heard the voice of some person struggling to
articulate to some musical accompaniment the words--

"Rool Britanny! Britanny rool waves!
Britons ne-vaire--ne-vaire--ne-vaire
Shall be sla-aves!"

CHAPTER VI

THE MEDICINE MAN

During the march through the woods the Indians were not communicative.
Once or twice Arnold attempted to draw Swift Arrow into conversation,
but the old man merely listened in solemn silence. He refused even to
respond to direct questions.

Eventually a clearing was reached where a large number of teepees were
pitched. It was quite a wigwam village, and thence the two captives were
escorted to a tent that stood among many others. They were politely
requested to enter, and, on obeying, they found that the teepee was
otherwise empty. Several men were posted on guard at a little distance
from the entrance, while Swift Arrow departed with the rest of his
brethren.

"There's no doubt but that we are prisoners," remarked Arnold, as he sat
down upon a buffalo hide, preparing to make the best of things and take
his ease while he might.

"The whole affair is a puzzle," said his companion. "Why on earth they
should take us prisoners passes my comprehension. It can't be that they
regard us as enemies. They would not have been so polite and considerate
if that had been their thought."

"That's just it," laughed Arnold, who, like his son, had the gift for
worrying little until he knew exactly what to worry about. "That's just
what surprises me. We are treated as prisoners, and not as prisoners. My
impression is that we are regarded with more fear than anger."

The time allowed for speculation was soon curtailed by the sound of many
voices approaching the tent, though presently there was silence, and a
loud voice called to those within--

"The eyes of Mighty Hand would gladly rest on the sight of the White
Men."

"He means us," commented Ar