Once more at my own hut door, I entered, with a nod to Mayaro,
who sat smoking there in freshened war paint. One quick and
penetrating glance he darted at the Oneida garment on my arm, but
except for that betrayed no curiosity.
"Well, Mayaro," said I, in excellent spirits, "you still wear
war paint hopefully, I see. But this army will never start within
the week."
The Siwanois smiled to himself and smoked. Then he passed the
pipe to me. I drew it twice, rendered it.
"Come," said I, "have you then news that we take the war-trail
soon?"
"The war-trail is always open for those who seek it. When my
younger brother makes ready for a trail, does he summon it to come
to him by magic, or does he seek it on his two legs?"
"Are you hoping to go out with the scout to-night?" I asked.
"
