me in a manner very different to that of any Indian I had ever known. And now it seemed to me that from the very first I had vaguely realized a sense of unwonted comradeship with this Siwanois.

At all events, it was plain enough now that, for some reason unknown to me, this Mohican not only liked me, but so far trusted me — entertained, in fact, so unusual a confidence in me — that he even permitted himself to relax and speak to me playfully, and with the light familiarity of an elder brother.

“Sagamore,” I said, “my heart is very anxious for the safety of this little forest-running maid. If I could find her, speak to her again, I think I might aid her.”

Mayaro’s features became smooth and blank.