have greeted the sun, you renew your war-paint. Such praiseworthy perseverance ought to be rewarded.”

“It has already been rewarded,” remarked the Indian, with quiet humour.

“In what manner?” I asked, puzzled.

“In the manner that all warriors desire to be rewarded,” he replied, secretly amused.

“I thought,” said I, “that the reward all warriors desire is a scalp taken in battle.”

He cast a sly glance at me and went on painting.

“Mayaro,” said I, disturbed, “is it possible that you have been out forest-running while I’ve slept?”