“Where are you from, and where are you bound, my lad?” asked the man, who had refrained from questions until he saw that his guest was well under way eating.
Tom’s mouth and heart were full, and between them both he found it difficult to reply. He was painfully hungry from his long fast and the thrilling experiences of the day, and his brain was greatly excited.
“I am going,” said he, answering the last question first, perhaps because it was nearest at hand, “to the fort after help.”
“After help!” cried the wife, stopping short in the act of transferring a potato from the end of her fork to Tom’s plate, holding it aloft unconsciously. “Ain’t any trouble down your way with the Injuns–is there?”
“No, not exactly,” said Tom.
And the good woman, relieved, remembered the potato, and deposited it as she had designed, then was proceeding to place another slice of pork beside it, just as Tom added,–
“But I saw lots of them this morning not more than twelve miles from here, and they looked fierce enough in their war-paint, and with the bloody scalps dangling from their bodies.”
“Goodness gracious!” exclaimed the good 204 lady; and, again forgetting herself, she paused with the pork, letting the fat drip upon the snowy cloth. “I told you, husband, they’d be down upon us yet, and we more’n three miles from any neighbor.”
And as Tom commenced his recital of the occurrences of the morning, she sat down in her chair with the slice of meat still in its elevated position, and the gravy dripping into her lap, while the husband ceased eating, and listened with open-mouthed interest.
Tom eyed the pork longingly as he continued his narration, and, seeing no prospect of getting it, abruptly said,–