"Wait till I show yees a specimen of Pat Mulroony's shooting," said the Irishman, reaching out for the gun of Waring. But the latter refused it.
"It looks too much like murder."
"It's mighty little like murder their dailings with us luks, be the same token."
"His death can do us no good," added Waring. "The report of our rifle would attract the attention of the savages in the vicinity, and we could not again escape their clutches."
"Ye talks now like a raisonable person," said the Irishman, somewhat mollified at the explanation. "Hist a moment till I takes another look at the gintleman."
Pat Mulroony's head commenced slowly rising, while, as his knees gradually straightened, his arms were elbowed, and his hands kept flapping like the flippers of a turtle—the instinctive admonition to the lookers on to maintain a profound silence.
As his head rose to its full height, Waring saw, from the sudden light that filled his eyes, that he had discovered something further. Without removing his gaze, he motioned for his companion to look. The latter did so, and descried the Shawanoe walking away in the woods. In a few moments he had disappeared, and the three were left alone.
Waring turned to Virginia, and assured her that the danger had passed, and that she need feel no further alarm. They would not move from their present position until nightfall, when the chance of escape would amount almost to a certainty. After this, the young adventurer again demanded of the Irishman an account of his flight from the Shawanoes, and he, nothing loth, proceeded to give it.
We choose to relate it in our own words.