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Page 3
"Well, I reckon," he said, picking up his knife, and
resuming his whittling, but in a less absorbed manner,
"I meant no harm, but merely that Loup Garou can nose an
Injin better than ere a one of us."
"Nose an Indian better than any one of us! Well, perhaps
he can--he sees them every day, but what has that to do
with his whining and growling just now?"
"Well, I'll tell you, Boss, what I mean, more plain-like.
You know that patch of wood borderin' on the prairie,
where you set me to cut, t'other day?"
"I do. What of that?"
"Well, then, this mornin' I was cuttin' down as big an
oak as ever grew in Michigan, when, as it went thunderin'
through the branches, with noise enough to scare every
buffalo within a day's hunt, up started, not twenty yards
from it's tip, ten or a dozen or so of Injins, all gruntin'
like pigs, and looking as fierce as so many red devils.
They didn't look quite pleasant, I calcilate."
"Indeed," remarked Mr. Heywood, musingly; "a party of
Pottawattamies I presume, from the Fort. We all know
there is a large encampment of them in the neighborhood,
but they are our friends."
"May-be so," continued Ephraim Giles, "but these varmint
didn't look over friendly, and then I guess the
Pottawattamies don't dress in war paint, 'cept when they
dance for liquor."
"And are you quite sure these Indians were in their war
paint?" asked his master, with an ill-concealed look of
anxiety.
"No mistake about it," replied Giles, still whittling,
"and I could almost swear, short as the squint was I got
of 'em, that they were part of those who fought us on
the Wabash, two years ago."
"How so, den, you are here, Gile. If dey wicked Injin,
how you keep your funny little cap, an' your scalp under
de cap?"
This question was asked by the Canadian, who had hitherto,
while puffing his pipe, listened indifferently to the
conversation, but whose attention had now become arrested,
from the moment that his fellow-laborer had spoken of
the savages, so strangely disturbed by him.
"Well, I don't exactly know about that, myself," returned
the soldier, slightly raising his cap and scratching his
crown, as if in recollection of some narrowly escaped
danger. "I reckon, tho', when I see them slope up like
a covey of red-legged pattridges, my heart was in my
mouth, for I looked for nothin' else but that same
operation: but I wur just as well pleased, when, after
talkin' their gibberish, and makin' all sorts of signs
among themselves, they made tracks towards the open
prairie."
"And why did you not name this, the instant you got home?"
somewhat sternly questioned Mr. Heywood.
"Where's the use of spilin' a good dinner?" returned the
soldier. "It was all smokin' hot when I came in from
choppin', and I thought it best for every man to tuck it
in before I said a word about it. Besides, I reckon I
don't know as they meant any harm, seein' as how they
never carried off my top-knot;--only it was a little
queer they were hid in that way in the woods, and looked
so fierce when they first jumped up in their nasty paint."
"Who knows," remarked Mr. Heywood, taking down his rifle
from the side of the hut opposite to the chimney, and
examining the priming, "but these fellows may have tracked
you back, and are even now, lurking near us. Ephraim
Giles, you should have told me of this before."
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