"A traveler, who has stopped here for shelter," replied the young man, coming forward. "What did you mean by that whistle, Spink?"
"Sho, now! Don't be so blasted inquisitive. I wouldn't, anyhow. I'll tell yew by an by; but, the fust thing yew dew is to put up them gates, do ye hear?"
The Indian had been standing just within the gates, and, as he heard the voice of the stranger, he cast a quick glance in his direction, and his hand stole to the handle of his hatchet. But, the Yankee sat upon the cask, beating time with his heels upon the sides, and muttering to himself. The Indian stalked gravely to his side, and looked fiercely into his face. The savage was a rather good-looking brave of the Wyandot tribe, whose powerful limbs, strong shoulders, and muscular hands gave promise of great strength. The down-easter endured his fixed gaze for the space of three minutes without moving a muscle of his set face, until the savage spoke.
"Who is this?" he said. "Dare you come here to sing an evil song in the ears of my father with the gray hair, to make him distrust his brethren of the Shawnees and Wyandots?"
"Oh, git eout! Who said any thing tew yew? The most cantankerous Injin I ever see in all my born days."
"You laugh at Willimack, the chief? Why should my father put up his strong gates?"
"'Cause he's a man of sense, I guess. Now, don't rile up, Injin, don't! 'Tain't that I care any thing about yew, understand, but I sort o' hate to see things go this way. Willimack, they call you?"
"Willimack is my name."
"All right. Been guiding this party on a prospecting tour, so tew speak?"