the negro stationed himself a little behind the old chief, where, with the greatest trepidation, but with many smiles and genuflexions, he greeted the band of astonished savages who came crowding into the little hut.

they were as wild and uncouth-looking as well could be. all were more or less painted; and only running water, their seeming leader, was fully clad in a hunting suit of undressed deerskin; the soiled and frayed condition of which fully entitled him to the sobriquet which the negro had so innocently bestowed upon him.

he might have been called an old man but for the contrast between him and the decrepit chief; certainly, he was not less than sixty, though he was seemingly in the full vigor of manhood.

there was a heavy scowl on his forehead when he entered the hut, and his tomahawk was upraised in his hand. but, after a brief glance at the propitiatory motions of the negro, and at the unharmed veteran, the scowl subsided and he returned his hatchet to its place in his belt.

not so others—for several of his followers had already presented their guns at joe; and one, who was doubtless emulous of the glory of being the first to bring the strange enemy down, rushed furiously upon him, and aimed a blow at him, which the negro avoided only by leaping backward and crouching to the ground.

he begged piteously for mercy, but his words were[232] lost in the clamor of voices which ensued, and as many of the squaws had by this time crowded in and others were looking in at the door and window, and were adding their shrill chorus to the general outcry, the tumult became very great.

running water’s voice could not be distinguished in the uproar, and joe’s minutes would have been few had not the indian leader rushed forward and forcibly held back the foremost of the assailants.

his wishes, being thus made known, were at once acquiesced in, and something like order was restored while he addressed his companions, angrily enough at first, but with a voice which subsided into gentle and more persuasive tones as he proceeded.

there was nothing savage in this man’s appearance except the inevitable scalp lock, and the few dashes of paint with which his cheeks were besmeared; yet this was not the terrifying war paint, but the rouge of the red man’s toilet, intended for a beautifying effect, and answering its purpose in the main quite as well as the cosmetics of civilized life.

in one respect it had a marked advantage over them, for there was no false pretense about it. it did not claim to be nature’s pure bloom. it was paint—open, honest, undisguised paint.

running water was a tall man, with a high, smooth forehead, and, as he now motioned to the negro to rise, and addressed him in broken english, his manner was anything but threatening.

“sarvant, sah!” said joe, coming slowly forward and bowing repeatedly, yet keeping a watchful eye upon the bystanders. “hope you’s well, sah—you and mrs. running water, sah, and de chillen——”

“who you be?” asked the indian.

“i’m joe, sah. joe congo, one ob de stewards, sah, to de enterprise, wot was lost, sah. you must hab[233] seen it in de newspapers, sah”—and joe was rattling off a long story when the red man interrupted him.

“speakum slow,” he said, “and don’t chatter-chatter.”

“yes, sah—sartain! den—dat’s all! dat’s who i am.”

joe became conscious now, for the first time, that he was an object of the greatest curiosity to the whole crowd. their alarm having subsided, they were pressing closely to him on all sides, looking narrowly at him, and some reaching out their fingers gently to touch his hands and his face, until, being rebuked by their leader, they drew back, and contented themselves with staring.

“are you great medicine man?” asked running water, after a pause for reflection.

“not very,” replied congo. “i don’t often take medicine. i berry well—t’ank you.”

“ware you git your paint?”

“paint?”

“uh! ware you git um?” repeated the savage, rubbing his fingers over the negro’s hands, and then looking at them to see if the color came off.

“jingo! dat ain’t paint, cap’n! dat’s my nat’ral color, sah. didn’t you nebber see culled gemmen before?”

the chief did not reply, but gave some direction in his own tongue to one of his people, who disappeared, and presently appeared with a gourd of water, which he put down before congo.

running water pointed first to the water and then to the left hand of the negro, and said:

“wash! make um white!”

“golly! but i wish i could, sah! i can’t!”

“make um white!” repeated the other severely.

joe laughed, and, dipping the hand into the water,[234] scrubbed away at it with the other for some minutes, and then held it up, black as before, saying:

“dare, sah—you see, i can’t and dat water is jes’ as clean as it was afore; not quite, dough—but dat is only de dirt.”

“more water!” said the chief, looking at the discolored fluid.

“i tell you it’s no use, sah! it won’t come off. i only wish it would.”

another experiment failing to make the hand any whiter, and leaving the liquid scarcely discolored. running water seemed satisfied, and said:

“good paint! stick fast. have you got um?”

puzzled for a reply, joe hesitated for a moment, and then, pointing to the sky, said:

“up dar. i was borned so.”

the indian bowed profoundly.

“from the great spirit?” he said.

“yes, sah.”

more convinced now than before that joe was a great medicine man, endowed with power to heal the sick, to give success in war and the chase, or to harm them with an evil eye, running water and his followers treated him with the respect which was due to his supposed character.

they set food before him, but joe, though very hungry, stopped only to swallow a few large mouthfuls before resuming his negotiations in behalf of his friends, from whom he had been absent so long that he feared they might return to their boats without him.

he informed running water of the nature of his errand, told him of the money which he had given to the old chief, which, by the way, that old man was keeping very close and showed no disposition to disgorge.

running water listened with evident surprise to[235] this story, and then addressed a few sharp words to the aged chief, who nodded his head quickly in reply—as if he had only just remembered it—and handed out about half the coin, after which he seemed to relapse into a comatose state.

“is this all?” the younger leader asked, at the same time handing the money back to joe and compelling him to take it.

“yes, sah; near enough,” responded the negro, fearful of giving offense in any quarter. “let de old gemman keep de rest and welcome.”

but running water fumbled in the belt of the seemingly sleeping patriarch until he had recovered most of the silver and returned it to congo.

then he addressed the negro in a sort of chant, the burden of which was the duties of hospitality.

the strangers, he said, must not pay for food or rest in their tents, but were welcome to come and partake of their corn and venison, and the coldest water from their springs.

their young men should wait upon them, and their maidens should watch their sleep, and drive off the lizard and the spotted toad from their couch.

his song being ended, he added a more prosaic but seemingly cordial invitation to joe to go and bring his friends to the wigwams, and he pointed to the pile of game outside the hut as the source from which their bountiful feast should be supplied.

but they must come unarmed, he said, for otherwise their women would be frightened, and their little children would run and hide.

but joe well knew that his white companions would not trust themselves so unreservedly in the power of the savages.

“t’ank you berry much,” he said, “but dey ’fraid to leave all deir rifles and ’volvers, ’cause some bad injuns[236] from ’nudder tribe might come along and stole ’em. dey ’fraid to go out of sight o’ deir boats, too, ’cause dere is two little cannon in each of dem dat might get pitched into de lake.”

the indians looked at each other in alarm at this intelligence, and even their leader seemed disconcerted; for savage men, it is well known, have a most exaggerated opinion of the power of artillery.

“what! have my white brothers brought thunder guns here?” asked running water.

“yes, sah! thunder an’ lightnin’, sah, and brimstone! dey could blow all your wigwams right up to de sky, sah; but dey goody men, and dey won’t do it—not at all. dey only want victuals, and dey is quite willin’ to pay for dem. i t’ink you’d better send two or t’ree quarters of deers, cap’n running water, and take de money, and dat will be de end ob it.”

the chief consulted with a few of the braves, and in a few moments, to the great joy of congo, he announced their decision to send the largest deer and some sweet corn dried on the ear; but said that they would take no money from their white brothers.

“it is a gift,” said running water. “speak no more of it. four of my young men shall carry it.”

but here arose another difficulty. the bearers of the provisions would discover, and report, that the strangers were unarmed, and if the indians were evil-disposed they might pursue them and attack them before they could get in their boats, or at least before they could obtain a safe offering.

doubtless, also, they had canoes moored somewhere on the shore, with which they could give chase upon the water.

these thoughts occurred to the sagacious negro, and he tried hard to avert the danger by proposing to take a single quarter of the venison to his friends,[237] and then return to get another, which, he said, would be enough to last them several days until they came to where food was plenty.

he would not trouble “de gemmen” to carry it for him—not at all.

but running water was equally polite, and would hear of no such arrangement. his young men were idle. three at least of them should go with his guest, each carrying one quarter of the venison, while congo might, if he chose, shoulder the fourth himself. he seemed very amiable—his eyes gleamed with a soft, genial light, and it was easy to doubt that he was acting in perfect good faith.

finding it useless further to protest, joe acquiesced in his plan, trusting to his white friends to foresee and in some way to avoid the danger—if danger there were.

the quarters of a large buck—which had been skinned and cut up where it fell—were quickly selected, and the three porters, being designated by the chief, at once took their stations near their respective loads, prepared to shoulder them, and to follow congo as soon as he was ready to start.

“good-by, den, cap’n,” said the negro, extending his hand to running water. “ef you come my way, gib me a call, sah, and i’ll be glad to see you.”

“wait!” said the savage, who was not yet ready to let his visitor depart, for he had given orders to have a patient brought in, to obtain the benefit of his healing powers.

in a few minutes, a tall, olive-colored lad was led in, and was conducted up to joe, evidently in a state of considerable apprehension.

“him sick,” said the chief. “burn, burn now, by an’ by shaky—shaky with cold—un’stan’?”

“goodness gracious—yes! he’s got the fever an’ agur, i s’pose.”

“cure him!” said running water.

“wot! i cure him!”

“yes—you wise man—medicine man,” repeated the other persuasively.

joe laughed and reflected. it could do no harm to encourage this notion, and might do some good. he happened to have in his pocket a corkscrew, and he was pretty sure that the indian had never seen such a utensil.

he took it out gravely, opened it, and all crowded nearer to see. it was a large one of shining steel.

“did you ebber see anyt’ing like dis afore?” he asked of running water.

the chief shook his head solemnly, and gazed with awe at the mysterious implement.

“it’s a screwemcorkibus!”

“ugh! good!”

“it draws out de sickness, sah. make de boy sot down, an’ you all keep berry still, an’ i show you.”

joe said this very gravely, and his orders being promptly obeyed, he approached the alarmed lad and slowly introduced the end of the corkscrew into one of his ears, and turned it around several times, being careful to inflict no wound.

then removing it, he affected to examine the spiral part very carefully—wiped it—pronounced it all right, and repeated the operation on the other ear, the savages manifesting the profoundest interest, and fairly holding their breath in order to preserve the strict silence which had been enjoined.

“dat ’ar is all,” said congo solemnly. “i hab drawn de feber out ob one ear, and de agur out ob de oder. in two days de boy will be well, sah. he won’t nebber shake ag’in after dat.”

running water asked permission to examine the wonderful implement with which this cure had been wrought, and he handled it a minute or so with the greatest respect, while others of the warriors pressed forward and barely touched it with their fingers, perhaps thinking that they thus secured to themselves immunity from the dreaded disease.

the chief returned it to congo with a regretful look at parting with such a treasure, and the negro was about magnanimously presenting it to him, when it occurred to him that such a course would have a tendency to lower their estimation of its powers and his own.

he, therefore, wiped it carefully, closed it, and returned it to his pocket, after which he again essayed to depart, but the red men had not yet done with him.

they brought forward their guns, their fishing tackle, and their bows and arrows, and begged that the medicine man would pass them through his hands, which process they believed would impart some of his mysterious power to them.

joe complied, repeating the chorus of an old song in a croaking, ravenlike voice, as he manipulated the weapons, and thus giving the most unbounded satisfaction to the savages.

“ef dem guns and bows don’t shoot straight arter dis, gemmen, it will be your own fault,” he said, “and ef you put good bait on dem hooks and go where de fish is, you’ll ketch ’em. mind, i tell you! how you feel?”

this question was addressed to the lad, who did not understand it until it was repeated by the chief in the indian tongue. according to that linguist’s report, the boy replied that he felt “much gooder.”

“all right,” said joe, “you jes’ wait a day or two and you won’t know yourself. good-by, running water; good-by, gemmen and ladies! do ole grandfer is asleep, i see, so i won’t shake hands with him.”

so congo and his followers at last set out, each bearing his backload of venison.