He seemed to menace the other, his nostrils quivered with contempt, and his voice was barbed with passion.

Onotawah bowed his head and said nothing.
Then he seemed to dismiss him, and the proud chief walked out of the teepee like a disconsolate schoolboy.
Instantly Shalah turned to me and inquired about my wounds.

He looked at the hole in my arm and at my scorched legs, and from his belt took a phial of ointment, which he rubbed on the former.

He passed his cool hands over my brow, and felt the beating of my heart.
"You are weary, brother, and somewhat scarred, but there is no grave hurt.

What of the Master ?" I told him of Ringan's end.