nd as to
his nationality, had been listening, with huge enjoyment, to the
conversation. He had risen to his feet and was saluting with grave
respect.

"Sure it's yourself that's right, sir," he said with an apologetic air.
"Anybody can see he's an Indian. He belongs to one of our worst
tribes--the Blood-drinkers, they call themselves. His name's Big
Scalper. And sure," he added, lowering his voice fearfully, "it's the
bloodthirsty brute he is, an' no mistake!"

The young naval officer came forward and gazed fixedly into the
speaker's meek and innocent countenance, but could detect there no
smallest sign of deceit. The subaltern looked solemn.

"Is that all true he's telling us, Big Scalper?" he asked dubiously.

"Sure, there's no use talkin' to him, sir," broke in Dan, with patient
surprise; "he can't spake a word but his own outlandish jabber. The
cratur was jist runnin' wild in the bush when Colonel Denison caught
him an' brought him out here." The young man's air of kindly anxiety,
mingled with innocent seriousness, was too much for mortal gravity.
Big Scalper turned his back with strange suddenness and stared fixedly
out upon the hot, grey glint of the river.

A little group of idle Canadians had begun to gravitate towards them.
Dan Murphy had already earned a reputation among them as a source of
entertainment, and was particularly interesting whenever anyone evinced
a desire to learn anything of his native land. The officers were wont
to question the voyageurs, and Dan played upon their ignorance of the
western half of their Empire, which was deep enough to begin with, and
made it abysmal.

"I told you," cried the subaltern triumphantly. "I've won my bet, old
fellow!"

"Strange how he's going to pilot a boat-load of men up the river
without the use of the English language," suggested the young naval
officer, with a slightly sarcastic drawl.

"Aw, ye don't know him," cried Mr. Murphy in a tone expressive of fear,
"he'll find a way to make them mind or he'll bash all their heads in.
Sure, he's the Divil himself, sir. Jist look at the wicked eye o' him
now, will ye?"

This was going too far for safety, and Big Scalper turned upon his
loquacious showman. He was too much an artist to spoil the play by
proclaiming it a sham, so he spoke a few rapid words in Gaelic. The
Murphy's knowledge of that language was naturally limited, but there
was never a boy in Glenoro school, be his nationality what it