Under its influence the
dissimulation of a moment ago vanished. From out of concealment he came
fair into the open. What he knew he would reveal--if the other wished;
but it was for the Indian to request, not him to proffer. With the
decision he aroused. In the interval his pipe had gone dead and he lit
it afresh suggestively.
"I lied to you a bit ago, How," he confessed abruptly. "It was not
Hawkins I came to see at all, but you."
The dark statue did not turn, showed no sign of surprise.
"I thought so," it said simply.
Puff, puff went the white man's pipe, until even though it was daylight,
the glow lit up his face.
"You did me a service once," he continued at last, "a big service--and
I've not forgotten. I'll go now, or stay, as you wish."
Still the Indian stood in the doorway looking out into the careless,
smiling infinite.
"I understand. You have something to tell me, something you think I
should know."
The old man thumbed the ashes in the pipe bowl absently.
"I repeat, it is for you to choose."
Silence fell; a lapse so long that, old man as he was, Manning felt his
heart beat more swiftly in anticipation. Then at last the Indian moved.
Deliberately, noiselessly he turned. Equally deliberately he drew a robe
opposite his visitor and, still very erect, sat down on the ground--his
long fingers locked across his knees.
"I choose to listen," he said. "Tell me, please.
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