Long-Hair faced him and leaned toward him, until his breathing was audible and his massive features were dimly outlined.

A dragon of the darkest age could not have been more repulsive.
"Ugh, friend, damn!" Beverley started when these words were followed by a sentence in an Indian dialect somewhat familiar to him, a dialect in which he had tried to talk with Long-Hair during the day's march.

The sentence, literally translated, was: "Long-Hair is friendly now." A blow in the face could not have been so surprising.

Beverley not only started, but recoiled as if from a sudden and deadly apparition.

The step between supreme exhilaration and utter collapse is now and then infinitesimal.