Dingle possessed that power, which is so singular and yet so easily acquired, of waking at the precise moment he wished. About noon he opened his eyes, arose to the sitting position, gave Jenkins a kick, and ordered him to make ready to start. After a hearty meal upon the last of the venison they had brought with them, they emerged from their resting-place, and once more resumed their journey.
As they gradually approached the neighborhood of the Indian settlement, Dingle became more and more cautious in his movements, until Jenkins was in a perfect tremor of apprehension.
"Don't fall behind!" admonished the ranger, unmercifully.
"My gracious, I won't! Every time you stop, I bump against you. I've mashed my nose already."
"Never mind; we're gettin' nigher every minute."
"I know we are, and that's what troubles me so much. If we were only going the other way, I wouldn't mind it so much."
Several times they came upon Indian trails, some of which were so fresh that Dingle made several detours, painfully tedious to Jenkins, who every minute was getting into a feverish state. Before dark, they ascended a sort of ridge, which seemed the boundary of a valley on the left. Jenkins followed his guide so closely, that he hardly took his eyes off of him, much less did he know where he was going. He saw they were ascending a rising ground, and that, after about an hour's labor, he came to a halt.
"Take a look down there!" whispered Dingle, parting the bushes in front of him. Jenkins followed the direction of his finger, and saw, spread out before him, in the valley below, the entire Indian village.
"My gracious! don't that look funny!" he exclaimed.
"It don't strike me as rather funny, when you understand what they're making all that fuss for."