Wanatoma, aged warrior and friend of the boys, sat before his log cabin in the midst of the forest wilderness. He had retreated to this lonely spot when increasing years robbed him of his power as chieftain. Wanatoma could not bear to see himself supplanted by a younger man. The braves no longer circled before him in wild, fantastic dances; his voice in the council of the tribe carried with it but little weight; so, proudly, he had withdrawn to the solitude, where nature, kinder than man, makes no distinction between youth and age.
The Indian's black hair was streaked with gray; his once powerful shoulders were slightly bent; his eyes were dimmed, but the fiery spirit of the warrior still smouldered within him; he quailed before neither man nor beast.
For a companion he had a Great Dane, a dog of enormous size and strength, generally tractable, but which his master, if he chose, could transform into a savage animal almost as formidable as a panther.
Wanatoma's log cabin was situated upon a level stretch on the side of a high hill. Close by towered a wall of barren rock crowned by a thick growth of timber.
It was early on the evening preceding the departure of the boys. The Indian, wrapped in a blanket, had taken a position near a good-sized fire, for the gusts of wind sweeping by were chill and frosty. The Great Dane, stretched at full length, lay a few feet away.
As Wanatoma saw the dog's head suddenly raised and his ears twitch forward, he stopped his almost ceaseless rocking to peer intently toward the west. In another moment, the Dane, with a low, ominous growl, rose to his feet and started off; but a soft word from Wanatoma brought him to a halt.
"Ugh!" grunted the Indian.
Presently he walked to the brow of the hill, keeping his eyes stolidly fixed on the line of woods below. Although the sky was still bright and clear, the landscape was fast deepening in the twilight. Trees, bushes and tangled thickets seemed rapidly merging together in somber masses; the rocks alone maintained their sharpness.
Wanatoma's eyes and ears did not serve him well, so, with a sigh, he leaned against a sapling and waited, while the Dane began to growl and show an array of dangerous-looking teeth. Only a few sharply-spoken words prevented him from dashing down the slope, and when, several minutes later, a sudden crackling of twigs sounded he answered with a deep bay that echoed weirdly from the surrounding hills.
"I wonder what for the white man come now?" murmured the Indian. "Mebbe boys; mebbe not—we see."
The crackling which had ceased began again; voices, too, came over the intervening space; evidently a party was forcing its way through the brush, and an occasional angry exclamation showed it to be not an altogether pleasant task. Then shadowy shapes came into view, gradually detaching themselves from the background, until five separate forms stood upon a rocky ledge a short distance below the Indian.
"Hello—hello, Wanna!" came a salutation, in a rough voice. "Is your dog loose?"
"He no hurt white man. Who?"
There was no answer to this, but the crackling began once more; the men, panting from their exertions, disappeared behind a mass of bushes, then reappeared, and soon four struggled up the remaining stretch to where Wanatoma, with folded arms, stood waiting.
The fifth held back; in the dim light, he had caught a glimpse of a huge dusky form from which now and then came an angry growl.
"How!" exclaimed Wanatoma. He solemnly shook the hands extended toward him. "Cap Slater's men! What for you come—not to see Indian?"
"Jist to hev a few words with ye," laughed one. He was a big powerful man with a deep voice. "Hey, Tom Smull," he yelled, "don't be skeered. Some o' me fren's, Wanna; Alf Griffin, Bart Reeder an' Dan Woodle. Come up here, Tom Smull! 'Member me, Injun—Jim Reynolds?"
"Hey thar, make 'im tie up that critter; he's big nuff to chaw a man's leg off," came from Tom Smull.
"Dog no hurt." Wanatoma looked at his visitors searchingly. "You have something to say to Indian? What?"
"I kin tell ye mighty quick," began Griffin, but a sharp thrust in the ribs stopped him.
"We jist wanted to ask ye a few questions, friendly like." Jim Reynolds grinned, shot a glance over his shoulder at the indistinct form of Tom Smull, and patted Wanatoma's shoulder. "Me an' you has allus been good friends, eh?" he asked.
The Indian nodded gravely and walked forward, speaking sharply to the Great Dane.
Tom Smull, seeing that nothing had happened to his friends, and not enjoying the rough sallies flung toward him, took courage, coming up as the others ranged themselves around the fire. He was a short man of powerful physique, with long, sandy hair and bushy eyebrows, and wore a thick, stubby beard. The ends of a red handkerchief tucked around his neck flapped in the breeze. Nature had been sparing of its favors to the lumberman. Perhaps this was one of the reasons why Tom Smull's disposition resembled that of a surly bear.
"Yes, Wanna, we jist wanted to ask a few friendly questions," repeated Jim Reynolds. "We've hearn tell that ye know somethin' 'bout a gold mine; an' that ye've told them boys what has been stayin' over to Lovell's camp whar it is."
"An' if that ain't a fine thing to do, when men as ye hev know'd fur years is a-slavin' in the woods; an' ye could jist as well hev—"
"Cut it out, Tom Smull!" roared Jim Reynolds. "Now, Wanna, bein' as you an' me hev been sich good fren's, we kinder thought as how ye might let us in on it. Ye kin count on big Jim Reynolds doin' the squar' thing by the boys—an' you, too, Injun. An' 'sides, it ain't a bit likely them youngsters kin find it. So we know'd we jist had to ask ye, an' out ye'd come with it, eh, Wanna?"
But little daylight now filtered between the trees; gloomy darkness was fast settling over the forest; a brisk fire threw a dancing glimmer upon Wanatoma's picturesquely garbed figure and bronzed face. For an instant his beady eyes flashed strongly, then the stolid expression returned. He looked calmly at Reynolds and his rough companions, all of whom were glaring eagerly toward him.
"How does white man know?" he asked.
"How?" echoed Griffin. "Don't make no difference, Injun; we know it, an' that's enough."
"We'll do the squar' thing by ye, Wanna," Reynolds again said, persuasively. "Whar is the mine?"
Wanatoma stood silent.
"Yes! Whar is it?" roared Tom Smull, paying no heed to Reynolds' warning glances. "We're bound to know, Injun. Ain't that right, boys?"
A loud chorus of gruff assents came from the lumbermen.
"Indian does not choose to tell," said Wanatoma, quietly.
Tom Smull and Alf Griffin's voices rose in angry protest.
"Ye'd better tell us peaceable-like," roared Tom, "or it'll be the wuss fur ye. We hain't walked our legs 'most off, besides fallin' over rocks, an' gittin' ketched in all sorts o' thickets, to hear no sich words as them."
"I should say we hain't!" cried Griffin; "an' it won't pay to go ag'in what we says, nuther, Injun."
"Go slow, boys," whispered Jim Reynolds; "yer spilin' the hull business."
"Git out! Smull an' me kin do the trick," growled Griffin. He cast an anxious look at the Great Dane, which sat on his haunches close beside his master. "Will ye answer, Wanna—yes or no?"
"Indian no tell."
"But see here, Injun—"
Reynolds, with an emphatic wave of his hand, cut short Griffin's angry voice, and said:
"Honest, Wanna, it ain't right to let a parcel o' boys have it all, when hard-workin' men, an' fren's o' yourn at that, need it so much wusser'n they."
"Ye couldn't expect none o' us to stan' fur it, nuther," said Bart Reeder, a tall, slender, freckle-faced man.
"We ain't a-wantin' to rob the boys, understan'," put in Dan Woodle. "Did ye ever hear anybody say a word ag'in big Jim Reynolds? He's a squar' man, all right; an' when he says the boys'll have their share he means it, eh, Jim?"
Jim nodded earnestly.
"Ye kin bet I do," he said. "It'll be share and share alike."
"Prowidin' me an' you agree to it," remarked Griffin, in a low tone, to his chum, Tom Smull.
There was an instant of silence. The lumbermen crowded eagerly around the aged warrior, whose stolid face, turned full toward them, shone brightly in the firelight. From the mysterious, somber depths of the forest came a low, mournful roar, as the ever-increasing breeze swayed the tree tops.
"Indian has spoken," said Wanatoma, slowly. "He is a friend of the white man. But boys save Indian's life, and Wanatoma can no forget. I give promise, and always does the Indian keep his promise. Is the white man like that, or does he change as the wind?"
His voice was stern; he stood out among the rough lumbermen a dignified figure, unyielding to either flattery or threats.
"Wal, kin ye beat that?" cried Tom Smull, violently. "We didn't come this far to hear all them fine words, eh, Griffin? Are you fellers a-goin' to stan' fur this?"
"No—no!" yelled Griffin.
"If ye don't tell us to onct, ye'll be the sorriest-lookin' Injun what ever hit this part o' the state!" Tom Smull shook his fist. "I asks ye ag'in, will ye tell us whar that gold mine is?"
"No!"
Wanatoma's stern voice vibrated with decision.
"Ye won't, hey?" snarled Tom Smull. "Ye'll be changin' yer mind purty quick, I'm a-thinkin', Injun!"
"An' that's whar ye're right, Tom!" yelled Griffin. "We'll see! If soft chatter don't bring him, somethin' else will!"
Forgetting caution, in his rage and disappointment, and hoping to frighten the Indian by strenuous methods, the lumberman sprang forward. Wanatoma, calm and unflinching, faced him.
A great dusky form suddenly rose high from the ground, while a deep-toned bay sent the astonished men falling back in a panic. Alf Griffin had a glimpse of a pair of savage eyes and an open mouth, but his wild howl of terror was stifled, as a crushing weight thudded against his chest.
He went flying over backward, rolled into a mass of brush, and, next instant, the Great Dane, snarling savagely, was standing over his prostrate form. Griffin, too terrified to move, felt a hot breath fan his cheek, and gave a smothered yell for help. He was convinced that his last moment had come.
The lumbermen stood motionless, none daring to approach the infuriated dog. Smull flashed a weapon.
But Wanatoma, with upraised hand, sprang forward. A few sharp commands, and the Dane backed slowly away, uttering another thrilling bay.
"He who has no respect for Indian's white hair must suffer," said Wanatoma, in a voice that trembled. "I want peace; but, listen, Big Jim, always is the Indian ready for battle, and has no fear."
He stood erect, facing the silent men, defiance in every line of his bronzed, aged face.
Still shaking with terror, Alf Griffin struggled to his feet, and, with his eyes fixed on the Great Dane, slunk quickly behind his companions.
There was something in the old warrior's manner which impressed the rough lumbermen with a feeling of awe. Jim Reynolds spoke up:
"Ye only got what ye desarved, Alf Griffin, an' I tell you right now that any man what tries to do Wanatoma harm has Big Jim Reynolds to reckon with. Me an' him is still fren's, even if he won't tell us 'bout the mine. But, Wanna," he paused an instant, "I'm a squar' man, an' gives ye fair warnin'; I s'picion we knows nigh 'bout whar that mine is located. Anyhow, it won't be hard to trail them boys; an' I reckon if a gold strike is ever staked out the ones that are goin' to do it are standin' right here. So-long, Wanna."
The Indian, with folded arms, nodded gravely, and watched the men file out into the darkness.
But a moment more, and the flaring light had detached them from the somber background for the last time; their forms suddenly melted into gloom, and only the sound of crackling twigs and stumbling feet told of the presence in the wilderness of other human beings beside the Indian.
Wanatoma, almost motionless as a statue, gazed at the gloom of the hillside, at the stars which were beginning to show faintly above; then, as the weird, shrill cry of some nocturnal bird jarred over the air, he sighed, and turned toward the fire.
The blanket was wrapped around his form again. With his hand on the Great Dane's head, he began to rock to and fro on his rude log seat, gazing into the depths of the fire, as though he could read in the glowing flames what the future held in store for the youthful searchers after the Rambler Club's Gold Mine.