Then a second tug came.
“All right, I understand,” said Boone; “but why in thunder can’t you speak and let a feller know what you mean?”
The stranger moved to the door of the wigwam, still keeping his hold on the corner of Boone’s blanket. The old hunter followed him.
At the door the unknown paused for a moment, as if to listen.
“Goin’ right through the Injin village?” said Boone, in astonishment.
The stranger answered as before by a vigorous tug at the blanket.
“Why in thunder don’t you answer a feller?” asked the hunter, thoroughly puzzled at the strange silence of the unknown who had come so timely to his rescue.
The stranger replied not, but raised the skin that hung at the door and passed out into the darkness of the night.
“I’ll see who it is, or what it is when we get outside,” muttered Boone, to himself. “He acts more like a brute than a human. Derned if I like a man that can’t answer a civil question. There’s a moon, so I can see what sort of a critter he is; but, by jingo! the same light that shows him to me will also show us to the Injins. This is goin’ to be a narrow squeeze.”
But the unknown had no idea of issuing from the door of the wigwam into the Indian village.