The end of the Indian’s cigarette grew bright and then dull again before he spoke. “I think not,” he said in the tone of one who has considered a proposition fairly and rejected it. “I think they are leaders—great spirits.” “Perhaps they are,” said the Bishop with a sigh. “Whatever they are, they are great Let us say Our Father, and go to sleep, my boy.” Kneeling on either side of the embers they repeated the prayer together and then rolled up in their blankets.
