the shrill voice of a crier pealed through the camp, and I
observed a general movement. I could not make out what the man said,
but the peculiar intonation told that he was uttering some signal or
summons. Something of importance was about to transpire.

The Indians now commenced circling around the blazing pile, meeting and
passing each other, as if threading the mazes of some silent and solemn
dance. Others were seen hastening up from distant parts of the camp--as
if to observe the actions of those around the fire, or join with them in
the movement.

I did not wait to watch them; their attention thus occupied, gave me an
opportunity of reaching the copse unobserved; and, without further ado,
I started towards it.

I walked slowly, and with an assumed air of careless indifference. I
counterfeited the Comanche walk--not that bold free port--the
magnificent and inimitable stride, so characteristic of Chippewa and
Shawano, of Huron and Iroquois--but the shuffling gingery step of an
English jockey; for such in reality is the gait of the Comanche Indian
when afoot.

I must have played my part well. A savage, crossing from the
horse-guards towards the great fire, passed near me, and hailed me by
name.

"_Wakono_!" cried he.

"_Que cosa_?" (Well--what matter?) I replied in Spanish, imitating as
well as I could the Indian voice and accent. It was a venture, but I
was taken at a strait, and could not well remain silent.

The man appeared some little surprised at being addressed in the
language of Mexico; nevertheless, he understood it, and made rejoinder.

"You hear the summons, Wakono? Why do you not come forward? The
council meets; Hissoo-royo is already there."

I understood what was said--more from the Indian's gestures than his
speech--though the words "summons", "council," and the name
"Hissoo-royo," helped me to comprehend his meaning. I chanced to know
the Comanche epithets for the two first, and also that Hissoo-royo (the
Spanish wolf) was the Indian appellation of the Mexican renegade.

Though I understood what was said, I was not prepared with a reply. I
dared not risk the answer in Spanish; for I knew not the extent of
Wakono's proficiency in the Andalusian tongue.

I felt myself in a dilemma; and the importunate savage--no doubt some
friend of Wakono himself--appeared determined to stick to me. How was I
to get rid of him?

A happy idea came to my relief. Assuming an air of extreme dig