When the party left Fort Pitt the sky was overcast, and that night came a light fall of snow. They had been told that there had been a landslide on the route, and that they had better take another trail, one leading around to the northward. "This trail bring party to Indian village of Ninalicmic," announced White Buffalo. "Are they much of a tribe?" asked Dave. "Only a handful. But my white brothers must beware of the Ninalicmics. They are of the magicians, and do great wonders." "They are a branch of the magicians who live up near the lakes," put in Barringford. "I've heard of them, but I thought they had cleared out long ago." When they came close to the village, they heard a strange beating of Indian tom-toms and a loud shouting and clapping of hands. "Some kind of dance going on," said Barringford. "Reckon as how I'll go in advance and see if it's safe to break in on 'em." "Let me go with you," said Dave. The others were halted, and Dave, Barringford, and White Buffalo went forward on foot, keeping themselves out of sight behind a row of bushes and a series of low rocks. Before them was a fair-sized glade, in the midst of which was located the Indian village, consisting of a dozen or more wigwams, all of good dimensions and each gaudily painted with many signs and symbols. In front of several of the wigwams were erected posts on which hung strips of feathers and other strips of bear's claws and wampum belts that were new to Dave's eyes. In the center of the village was a cleared space, and here a bright campfire was burning. On each side sat several Indians, all smeared with various colored paints and greases. Other red men were dancing around the fire, keeping time to the tom-toms and chanting in a low, monotonous tone. "Big medicine men and magicians," said White Buffalo. "Make much magic." Dave looked at his old Indian friend and saw, to his astonishment, that White Buffalo was ill at ease, if not actually nervous. Had he been alone, it is likely that he would have turned on his heel and hurried away. "What be they a-saying?" demanded Barringford, after listening to the chant. "I never heard sech gibberish in my life afore." "Much magic," answered White Buffalo. "Magic make the Indians strong to fight their white enemies." "Oh, so that's it, eh? Do they believe in it, White Buffalo?" "Magic is magic," returned the old chief simply. "Does it mean digging up the war hatchet?" "White Buffalo cannot tell, for he is not in their secrets. But if the hatchet should be dug up--ha!" White Buffalo stopped short, for the flap of one of the wigwams had opened and a tall Indian had stepped outside. The red man was naked to the waist and painted with rings and blotches of several colors. On his head he carried something of a crown of black feathers with brass ornaments dangling over each ear. As he came out, those around the fire set up a yell of welcome. "Who is it?" questioned Dave, in a whisper.