Rea addressed several braves, but got no reply.

He laid his broad hand on the old wrinkled chief, who repulsed him, and turned his back.

With a growl, the trapper spun the Indian round, and spoke as many words of the language as he knew.

He got a cold response, which ended in the ragged old chief starting up, stretching a long, dark arm northward, and with eyes fixed in fanatical subjection, shouting: "Naza! Naza! Naza!" "Heathen!" Rea shook his gun in the faces of the messengers.

"It'll go bad with you to come Nazain' any longer on our trail.