When the Englishmen issued from the tent, this chief was standing
before them in a majestic attitude that at once proclaimed his royal
blood. He was unarmed. This was a courtesy to the strangers.

At the chief's right side stood Swift Arrow; at the left was a figure
that formed a weird contrast to the other two. This one was lean, bent,
and twisted like a gnarled tree that had been starved and warped in the
forest. His dress was alike native, but the grotesque ornaments of
animals' skulls, tails, dried monkeys' hands, and other gruesome relics
gave the wearer an appearance that was repulsive to Saxon eyes. This
freak of figure and dress was Thunder-maker, the great Medicine Man of
the tribe. Without his presence no state conclave was complete; without
his opinion no tribal law or ruling was ever decided.

It must not be thought that the time we have occupied in describing
these several features was similarly occupied by the Englishmen in
minute observation. Not at all. Arnold, immediately recognising the
bearing of the chief, promptly addressed him in English, which Mighty
Hand could understand--judging from his first salutation.

"The white brothers of the redmen are gladdened by this visit of the
great chief," he said. "The white brothers have been in great danger
from rushing waters--danger from which the great chief's braves snatched
them. They are grateful that their lives have been saved, and they are
glad to meet the chief and thank him for what was done."

The Indian listened in silence, and, at the pause that followed, he
returned in deep tones, as if he were repeating a lesson that he had
learnt by heart--

"_Out from the silver waters, when the moon is round, they shall come.
They shall be pale-face, and they shall look like men._"

This was certainly a puzzling rejoinder! To neither of the captives did
it convey any knowledge. Arnold, however, deemed that the best course
would be to assume no impression that he and his friend were regarded as
prisoners.

"The chief speaks well," he returned. "But his tongue deceives him when
he says that we _look_ like men. Pale-faces we are. But we are friends
to the redman. We would smoke the peace-pipe with him. But we are far
from our camp. At our tents are our young sons, who are awaiting our
return with anxious hearts. Perhaps the great chief has also a son! He
will know, then, how heavy would be the heart of his papoose if the
chief were long absent from his t