“Aye, Straight Arrow. And you? I do not see you.”
“I, too. Go inside the wigwam and lie close to the wall at its back and farthest from the fire. I have many things to say and there is little time.”
David obeyed. At the nearer lodge an elderly squaw sat motionless by the doorway, a child slumbering against her knees. None others were near. Placing himself so that his lips were close to the rancid-smelling skins of the wigwam, David said: “I am here, Pikot.”
“Good,” replied the other softly. “Listen well, David. When the moon is behind the hill we start our journey back to the southward, and ere that much must be said. You did well to seem not to know me when I came, but what happened after was child’s foolishness, David, and might have cost me my life.”
“I am sorry,” said David humbly. “And yet, my friend, I scarce knew what to think. Nor do I yet.” He paused, seeking to ask a question and yet at a loss for words to clothe it in. At last: “Is—is all well?” he faltered.
“Aye. I bring you greetings from your
