At one side of the fire-place sat Malone, his face florid with drinking, and his eyeballs projecting.

Upon his head was a small Indian skull cap, with two peacock feathers, and a piece of scarlet cloth which hung down behind.

In one hand he held a smoking goblet of rum punch, and in the other a long, Indian Chibook pipe.

Opposite to him, but squatted upon the floor, reposed a red Indian, that lived in the Fort as a guide, equally drunk, but preserving, even in his liquor, an impassive, grave aspect, strangely contrasting with the high excitement of Malone's face.
The red man wore Malone's uniform coat, which he had put on back foremost--his head-dress having, in all probability been exchanged for it, as an amicable courtesy between the parties.

There they sat, looking fixedly at each other; neither spoke, nor even smiled--the rum bottle, which at brief intervals passed from one to the other, maintained a friendly intercourse that each was content with.
To the hearty fit of laughing of O'Flaherty, Malone replied by a look of drunken defiance, and then nodded to his red friend, who returned the courtesy.