"No, der young man is all right. Ta-wan-ne-ars has chudged him."
With that he was gone, and a sense of bewilderment stole over me. It seemed incredible that either of the two odd characters of the wilderness with whom I had talked could really have existed.
But Governor Burnet lost no time in doubts. He paced the room, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction.
"We have done well, Colden. We could not have done better. Master Ormerod, you were indeed fortunate in going to the help of the Seneca. You earned, not only his friendship, but that of Peter as well. No letter from Juggins could have served you so handily. Peter hath the mind of an Indian for all his white face, and he looks at things as they do. He likes you."
"I can scarce believe in my good fortune," I replied. "'Tis a change for the better, and a marked one, believe me, your Excellency."
"You are to be congratulated," he returned heartily. "But I must ask you to excuse me. I have much work to do. Pray grant me the pleasure of your company for dinner tomorrow. Colden, will you show Master Ormerod out?"
It was dusk in the streets, a soft purple dusk that became velvet darkness under the trees; and I felt in no humor to return to the drab company which the tavern offered. I was lifted out of myself by a mood of exaltation. After years which had been starred With humiliation, penury, discontent, I saw opening before me the golden path of adventure.
I drank in the tree smells and the odor of the ground underfoot, and longed for the great forests I had traced on the governor's map. And so I wandered at hazard until I found myself in an alley leading down to the waterfront—and heard of a sudden the thud of flying feet. I spun around in time to see a monstrous bulk come sailing through the air, knife and tomahawk whirling in either hand.
"I'll kill yer, varmint," howled an ugly voice. "I'll cut yer heart out and skin yer and take yer scalp!"
I dodged the knife and grappled the wrist which swung the tomahawk, twisting myself behind him so as to hinder his attack. But he was far stronger than I and slung me back in front of him as if I were a sack of chaffed wheat. I still clung to his tomahawk hand and contrived to knock up another blow of his knife, but he must have disemboweled me in the next vicious sweep of the blade.