A single glance had shown the stranger that three stalwart warriors, seated a few paces from the lodge, kept vigilant watch upon it.
Still keeping his hold upon the blanket, the mysterious being who had so astonished the old hunter by his silence, moved with noiseless step across the wigwam to the back of it, where he, by aid of his knife, had gained entrance to it. Boone, guided by the movement of the blanket—for it was almost too dark to distinguish forms—followed.
“Well, now, this is sense,” said Boone, approvingly; “we may stand a chance to get clear of the red heathen.”
Boone felt that the stranger was lifting his corner of the blanket into the air, then he flung it over Boone’s head.
“Wrap my head up? Of course; that’s a ’cute dodge,” and the hunter chuckled to himself. “If any of the pizen Shawnees happen to see me, they won’t be able to tell me from one of their own tribe with my head kivered up, ’cos my legs are kivered with buck-skin leggin’s, same as their own.”
Boone wrapped the blanket carelessly round his head, Indian fashion.
Then the stranger, who seemed to be able to distinguish the movements of the hunter, in spite of the darkness, passed through the hole he had previously cut in the skins that formed the side of the Indian lodge, and gained the open air.
Boone followed.
“Now I kin see who it is,” muttered Boone, as he emerged into the air from the confines of the lodge.
But, even as he spoke, a great, black cloud came rapidly over the face of the moon and vailed its silvery rays of light from the earth.