“We should keep our eyes on him. He means to do some harm to the boys.”
“What harm could he do to them?” Barker asked, trying to conceal his own fears and the anxiety he had often felt about the relation of the two boys to their supposed cousin.
“We must watch him,” he said to Black Buffalo; “there is something strange about him. He can talk well, but his eye is unsteady.”
“Yes,” replied the Indian, “his words do not tell you what is in his heart.”
In the middle of the afternoon, the engine broke down and the boat tied up near the present town of Belle Plaine, about fifty miles above St. Paul.
While the engineers were repairing the machinery, the two boys and their friends went out in two small boats to hunt ducks and geese on the flooded marshes.
They landed on a small island of high land and the men chose a convenient blind behind some bushes. The boys had no guns and had just gone along to watch the fun and to bring in the ducks which the hunters would drop, but they found some unexpected and exciting hunting for themselves.
“See the rabbit, see the rabbit!” Tim cried. “He is sitting on a stump with water all around him.”
The boys were surprised to find that the rabbit did not try to get away as they approached.
“He’s dead,” said Tim.