at Paul's hope was not ill-founded became apparent the moment the
hunter made himself known. For the scowling brows cleared at once, and
one or two men, who had formerly met with the white hunter, came forward
and saluted him in the European manner which he had already taught to
many of the red men, namely, with a shake of the hand.

A great palaver followed in the wigwam of the chief, Bearpaw, in the
course of which many things were talked about; but we confine our record
to that part of the talk which bears specially on our tale.

"The men must die," said Bearpaw sternly. "What you tell me about their
harsh treatment of their chief and his son and friend only proves them
to be the more deserving of death. My two young braves who visited them
on the island were treated like dogs by some of them, and Little Beaver
they have slain. It is just that they should die."

"But my three friends here," returned Hendrick, "treated your braves
well, and they had no knowledge or part in the killing of Little Beaver.
Perhaps the palefaces did _not_ kill him. Do they admit that they
did?"

"How can we tell what they admit? We know not their language, nor they
ours. But there is no need to palaver. Did not Strongbow and his
braves find the dead body of Little Beaver bruised and broken? Did they
not see his black dog in the paleface camp, and has not Rising Sun
disappeared like the early frost before the sun? Doubtless she is now
in the camp with those palefaces who have escaped us, but whom we will
yet hunt down and kill."

"Bearpaw is right," said Hendrick, "murderers deserve to die. But
Bearpaw is also just; he will let the men of the sea speak in their own
defence now that I am here to interpret?"

"Bearpaw is just," returned the chief. "He will hear what the palefaces
have got to say. One of the young men will take you to their prison."

He signed as he spoke to a young Indian, who instantly left the tent,
followed by Hendrick and his friends.

Passing right through the village the party reached a precipice, on the
face of which was what appeared to be the entrance to a cavern. Two
Indians stood in front of it on guard. A voice was heard within, which
struck familiarly, yet strangely, on Paul and the captain's ears. And
little wonder, for it was the voice of Grummidge engaged in the
unaccustomed act of prayer! The young Indian paused, and, with a solemn
look, pointed upwards, as if to intimate that he unde