made a courtly bow, but gave no answer to his father. He was, perhaps, eighteen years old, tall, straight as an arrow, with a smooth, olive skin, thick, black locks, and eyes of the same hue. His dress was better than that of the savages in his company, and he wore it with the air of a gentleman. In truth, his looks plainly showed that he was no more than a half brother to Black-bird and the young papooses. The old chicf, North Wind, was his father, but he had had a white mother. The squaw had a jealousy of him, because she thought that the Indian preferred him to her children. This was true. North Wind doted on the child of his white wife, and coveted for him a companion from the same race.
When they sat down on the ground around the fire, to eat their bowls of succotash, Torch Eye looked about for a stool. He would not sit on the floor, nor did he eat with his fingers, but made use of a broad-bladed knife, which he drew from his side pocket.
