"My sons are welcome to my bivouac," he said, with that marked guttural accent that belongs to the red race alone, and which the white men have such difficulty in imitating; "as the Wacondah has brought them here, I will strive to fulfil his intentions by receiving them as well as I possibly can."
"Thanks," Spider replied, giving him a scrutinising glance; "we accept our brother's offer as freely as it is made. My young men will camp with him."
He gave his orders, which were immediately carried out. As on the previous evening. Spider built a hut for the females, to which they immediately withdrew. The sorcerer had given them a glance which made them shudder all over.
After supper; Spider lit his pipe and sat down near the sorcerer; he wished to converse with him and clear up, not his suspicions, but the doubts he entertained about him. The Indian, however, felt for this man an invincible repulsion for which he could not account. Nathan, although smoking with all the gravity the redskins display in this operation, and wrapping himself up in a dense cloud of smoke, which issued from his mouth and nostrils, closely watched all the Indian's movements, while not appearing to trouble himself about him.
"Yes," the pretended sorcerer laconically replied.
"Wah!" the Indian said in surprise; "Where does my father come from, then?"
Nathan took, his pipe from his lips, assumed a mysterious air, and answered gravely and reservedly--
"The Wacondah is omnipotent, those to whom the Master of Life speaks, keep his words in their heart."
"That is just," Spider, who did not understand him, answered, with a bow.
"My son is a warrior of the terrible queen of the prairies?" the sorcerer went on.
"No, I am at this moment on the war trail."
"Wah! Does my son hope to deceive a great medicine man, that he utters such word before him?"
"My words are true, my blood runs pure as water in my veins, a lie never sullied my lips, my heart only breathes the truth," Spider answered, with a certain haughtiness, internally wounded by the sorcerer's suspicions.
"Good, I am willing to believe him," the latter went on; "but when did the Comanches begin to take their squaws with them on the war path?"
"The Comanches are masters of their actions; no one has a right to control them."