By that time the others had gone ahead, but his short delay served one good turn, since it enabled poor puffing Bumpus to reach the side of the patrol leader, which fact, no doubt, gave the fat boy considerable gratification.
“What is it, Thad?” Bumpus managed to gasp, as they hurried along.
“I don’t know myself,” came the reply; “but we’ll soon find out now, because I hear them talking just ahead.”
“And that’s Sebattis, too,” declared Bumpus, in a relieved tone; just as though he may have been worrying over the possibility of the Indian having been injured when that gun was discharged.
“Of course it is,” Thad said. “And I never thought it was any one else but him who fired that shot. He must have believed he saw a suspicious figure making up through the brush, or trying to damage our boats; though why these men should want to do that, when they’re hoping for us to clear out, surprises me.”
They were now close on the rest of the party; indeed, by the light which the lantern gave, they could make the group out, all of the others being clustered around the Indian guide, who was talking in his usual short-sentence way.
“Hear sound, see something move, shoot!”
That comprised the whole business with Sebattis. Where a white man would have described how he was thrilled to locate the suspicious noise; and tell what his feelings were as he drew up his gun and blazed away; the Penobscot Indian simply gave the bare facts—he came, he heard, he fired.
“You don’t think, now, it could have been one of those wolves we heard yelping last night, do you, Sebattis?” Giraffe ventured to ask, more to draw the other out than because he himself believed any such thing.
“Huh! when wolf speak does he swear hard?” asked Sebattis, quaintly.