He detached the bag, the waistcloth and moccasins, and calling to his comrades retreated farther into the forest. Every one of them, as they watched his actions, divined his intent. "You're going to disguise yourself and go into the Indian camp," said Paul, when they stopped. "I wouldn't do it. The risk is too great. Besides, what can you do?" "I went among 'em once and came back alive," said Henry, "and I think I can do it again. Besides, I mean to accomplish something." "I'm to go with you, o' course?" said Shif'less Sol, eagerly. Henry shook his head. "No, Sol," he said reluctantly. "There's only equipment for one, and it must be me. But the rest of you can hang on the outskirts, and if I give a cry for help you may come. It will be, as before, the howl of the wolf, and now, boys, we will work fast, because I must strike, while they're still in the frenzy, created by the medicine men." Henry took off his own clothing, and, with a shudder, put on the leggings and breechcloth of the dead Indian. Then Shif'less Sol and Tom Ross painted him from the waist up in a ghastly manner, and, with their heartfelt wishes for his safety and success, he departed for the camp, the others following in silence not far behind. He soon heard the sound of the chant and he knew that the orgie was proceeding. An Indian dance could last two days and nights without stopping, fresh warriors always replacing those who dropped from exhaustion. It was now far past midnight, and Henry was quite sure that all the hunters had gone. The little party which he and his comrades had fought had probably spread already the tale of a mysterious foe with whom they had met, and who had slain one of their number. And the story, exaggerated much in the telling, would add to the number and power of the evil spirits oppressing the red army. Keeping for the present well hidden in the forest, Henry approached the fires which had now been heaped up to an amazing height, from which lofty flames leaped and which sent off sparks in millions. The chant was wilder than ever, rolling in weird echoes through the forest, the dancers leaping to and fro, their faces bathed in perspiration, their eyes filled with the glare of temporary madness. The Englishmen and renegades had gone to small tents pitched at the edge of the wood, but Yellow Panther and Red Eagle stood and watched the dancers. All things were distorted in the mingled dusk and glow of the fires, and Henry, bending low that his great stature might not be noticed, edged gradually in and joined the dancers. For a while, none was more furious than he. He leaped and he swung his arms, and he chanted, until the perspiration ran down his face, and none looked wilder than he. In the multitude nobody knew that he was a stranger, nor would the glazed eyes of the dancers have noticed that he was one, anyhow.