Belknap and the others only smiled, but Orme turned soberly toward Auberry.  “I don’t call you a liar, my man,” said he.  “On the contrary, what you say is very interesting.  I quite believe it, although I never knew before that your natives in this country were possessed of these powers.”

“It ain’t all of ’em can do it,” said Auberry, “only a few men of a few tribes can do them things; but them that can shore can, and that’s all I know about it.”

“Quite so,” said Orme.  “Now, as it chances, I have traveled a bit in my time in the old countries of the East.  I have seen some wonderful things done there.”

“I have read about the East Indian jugglers,” said Belknap, interested.  “Tell me, have you seen those feats? are they feats, or simply lies?”

“They are actual occurrences,” said Orme.  “I have seen them with my own eyes, just as Auberry has seen the things he describes; and it is no more right to accuse the one than the other of us of untruthfulness.

“For instance, I have seen an Indian juggler take a plain bowl, such as they use for rice, and hold it out in his hand in the open sunlight; and then I have seen a little bamboo tree start in it and grow two feet high, right in the middle of the bowl, within the space of a minute or so.

“You talk about the old story of ‘Jack and the Bean Stalk’; I have seen an old fakir take a bamboo stick, no thicker than his finger, and thrust it down in the ground and start and climb up it, as if it were a tree, and keep on climbing till he was out of sight; and then there would come falling down out of the sky, legs and arms, his head, pieces of his body.  When these struck the ground, they would reassemble and make the man all over again—­just like Auberry’s dead boy, you know.

“These tricks are so common in Asia that they do not excite any wonder.  As to tribal telegraph, they have got it there.  Time and again, when our forces were marching against the hill tribes of northwestern India, we found they knew all of our plans a hundred miles ahead of us—­how, none of us could tell—­only the fact was there, plain and unmistakable.”

“They never do tell,” broke in Auberry.  “You couldn’t get a red to explain any of this to you—­not even a squaw you have lived with for years.  They certainly do stand pat for keeps.”

“Yet once in a while,” smiled Orme, in his easy way, “a white man does pick up some of these tricks.  I believe I could do a few of them myself, if I liked—­in fact, I have sometimes learned some of the simpler ones for my own amusement.”

General exclamations of surprise and doubt greeted him from our little circle, and this seemed to nettle him somewhat.  “By Jove!” he went on, “if you doubt it, I don’t mind trying a hand at it right now.  Perhaps I have forgotten something of my old skill, but we’ll see.  Come, hen.”

All arose now and gathered about him on the ground there in the full sunlight.  He evinced no uneasiness or surprise, and he employed no mechanism or deception which we could detect.