“I knifed two on ’em the minit I riz up side o’ thar skiff, Goodbrand,” said Scarred Eagle, with a shiver in his voice. “Them won’t mislest us more, but t’other one’s hangin’ ter the canoe yender.”
Already had his Indian friend seen this, and seizing the paddle began to sweep up toward the drifting canoe. But suddenly, Scarred Eagle interposed.
“Let the poor devil go, Goodbrand,” he said. “He kain’t dew us any hurt, an’ it seems like a cruel advantage to take by sich as we.”
“Good!” assented the other. “It shall be as my brother says, ’cos he wise head as well as quick hand. He has saved us both. He is an Eagle that can fly under water, as well as over the land.”
“I seen ’twas best course, considerin’ the fix we war in,” replied the other as he began to wring the water from his clothes. “It come to me all of a sudden like. Ah—thar’s the cretur’ in sight,” he added, as the head and shoulders of the remaining enemy appeared on the opposite side of the receding canoe.
“It is Nookechin—one of my cousins,” exclaimed Goodbrand in surprise. “I’m glad no to kill him, though kill me, mebbe.”
“An’ I’m glad tu hear ye say it, Goodbrand,” answered Scarred Eagle. “It shows you’ve a Christian heart, an’ that the Moravians hevn’t labored on ye in vain.”
“Workechin likes not to war upon his own race, and only does so when necessary to defend his white friends,” replied the other, assuming for the moment his Indian name. “He believes in the white God and white ways; and wishes his own tribe would believe likewise. They would be more happy then. Nookechin,” he added, elevating his voice, and using his native tongue, “you see we spare your life. I hope never to have occasion to meet you nor any other of my kin or tribe in battle, for I would not harm them. Does Nookechin hear?”
“It is well,” answered the other. “I shall not forget this kindness from my cousin. I will never fight against him till I do him as good a turn.” And, as if fully confident of the good intentions of the others, he righted the canoe and sprung into it. Then, grasping a paddle which floated near, he made a gesture of good-will toward his late enemies, and began to push rapidly toward the northern shore.
“What now, Scarred Eagle?” asked Goodbrand, as he peered toward the western shore now barely discernible through the gloom. “Mebbe our friends hear us fight—mebbe Injuns hear too.”