"But, listen!
He has the voice of a boy."
I was greedy to hear, so, with a wave of the hand, I shook Cadillac
away. But, in truth, I was disturbed. The tones were certainly boyish.
The canoes came within bowshot, and the hush that held the camp
suddenly broke like the release of pent waters. There were yells and
stamping, the smash of tom-toms, and a scattering salvo of musketry.
It was a united roar that shut out from our consciousness the thought
of the calm sky and the silent water.
The canoes had come as unswervingly as arrows, and the one that held
the prisoner landed at my feet. I looked up, and met his eyes, and I
swept my hat from my head.
"You are among friends," I called, not knowing that I did so.
It was a foolish speech, since the prisoner could not understand; but I
suppose that my tone was kind, for it apparently gave him courage. At
least, a flush that might have been the color of returning hope rose in
his cheeks. I was relieved at his appearance, for he was not the
little lad that his song had made me fear. He was slim and beardless,
but there were sorrow and understanding in his look that could not come
with childhood. For the rest, he was dark and gaunt from exposure and
privation.
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