Then, Attusah’s mood changing suddenly, “Tsida-wei-yu!” (I am a great ada-wehi!) he boasted airily.

That he was truly possessed of magical powers seemed to MacVintie least to be questioned when he angled, catching the great catfish, after the manner of the Indians, with the open palm of his hand.  In these fresh June mornings he would dive down in some deep shady pool under the dark ledges of rock where the catfish are wont to lurk, his right arm wrapped to the fingers with a scarlet cloth.  Tempted by the seeming bait, the catfish would take the finger-tips deep in its gullet, the strong hand would instantly clinch on its head, and Attusah would rise with his struggling gleaming prey, to be broiled on the coals for breakfast.

But for these finny trophies they too might have suffered for food, in the scarcity of game and the lack of powder; but thus well fed, the two enemies, like comrades, would loiter beside their camp-fire on the banks, awaiting as it were the course of events.  The dark green crystalline lustre of the shady reaches of the river, where the gigantic trees hung over the current, contrasted with the silver glister of the ripples far out, shimmering in the full glare of the sun.  The breeze, exquisitely fragrant, would blow fresh and free from the dense forests.  The mockingbird, a feathered miracle to the Highlander, would sway on a twig above them and sing jubilantly the whole day through and deep into the night.  The distant mountains would show-softly blue on the horizon till the sun was going down, when they would assume a translucent jewel-like lustre, amethystine and splendid.  And at night all the stars were in the dark sky, for the moon was new.

So idle they were they must needs talk and talk.  But this was an exercise requiring some skill and patience on the part of each, for the Scotchman could only by the closest attention gather the meaning of the Cherokee language as it was spoken, and the magic of the ada-wehi compassed but scanty English.  Attusah was further hampered by the necessity of pausing now and then to spit out the words of the tongue he abhorred as if of an evil taste.  Nevertheless it was by means of this imperfect linguistic communication that Kenneth MacVintie, keenly alive to aught of significance in this strange new world, surrounded with unknown unmeasured dangers, was enabled to note how the thoughts of his companion ran upon the half king Atta-Kulla-Kulla.  Yet whenever a question was asked or curiosity suggested, the wary Attusah diverted the topic.  This fact focused the observation of the shrewd, pertinacious Scotchman.  At first he deemed the special interest lay in a jealousy of artistic handicraft.

Atta-Kulla-Kulla’s name implied the superlative of a skillful carver in wood, Attusah told him one day.

“An’ isna he a skilly man?” MacVintie asked.

“Look at that!” cried the braggart, holding aloft his own work.  He was carving a pipe from the soft stone of the region, which so lends itself to the purpose, hardening when heated. “Tsida-wei-yu!”