For a few minutes they trudged on in silence. Then:
“Good!” grunted the halfbreed, as they reached the spot Hugh had pointed out. “We camp here.”
The greater part of the next two hours was consumed in gathering branches suitable for a lean-to shelter, building a fire-place of flat stones and cooking the evening meal. Finally, when the lean-to was constructed, and a goodly fire was blazing cheerfully in front of it, they chatted and laughed as they ate supper.
After supper, Blake Merton, who had a very agreeable voice, entertained them by singing a number of Irish melodies. The others, with the exception of Joe,—who strolled to and fro, sniffing the breeze,—joined in the choruses. But soon Hugh lapsed into silence, listening to the plaintive airs, feeling a strange, indescribable thrill.
“I wonder what’s worrying Joe?” he remarked, during a pause in the singing.
“He told me he didn’t like the way those hunters left that fire over there,” said he, then added in a louder tone: “You can’t be too careful of fires, you know, Hugh!”
If this observation was intended to reach the ears of Blake and Spike, it failed utterly, and only Billy heard it—with a start of surprise. The next moment Blake’s youthful tenor warbled out, “I’ve been workin’ on th’ railroad, all th’ livelong day.”
Now, lounging somewhat apart from the others, Joe betrayed amazing interest in Blake’s singing. He listened with his thick lips parted and a surprising expression of animation upon his usually stolid and immobile features. Once when the others clapped their hands vigorously in applause, he actually clapped his also.
“Gee!” exclaimed Billy, nudging Hugh with his elbow. “That Injun has an ear for music. Just look at him! I never saw him perk up this way before.”
“Yes,” murmured Hugh, “all his people love music. They have their own wild, sad songs. Perhaps Joe might sing. I’ll ask him, in a moment. Joe,” he added, “won’t you sing for us? We’d like to hear——”
At first Joe refused, shaking his head almost sullenly, and regarding Hugh with suspicion. But when, after a little, he seemed somewhat satisfied that he was not being made sport of and that Hugh really wished him to sing, he reluctantly consented.
That song was one which none who heard it ever forgot. It was wild and weird and full of unspeakable pathos. It was more of a chant than a song, more wailing than tuneful, and to Hugh it seemed that Joe was lamenting the lost power and greatness of his people. This, however, Hugh knew could not be possible, for he had often talked with the halfbreed and had found that Joe knew no more of Indian history than a child might learn at school.