"Not for us, you don't mean."
"Yes, for us."
"Let's be gettin' out of here, then."
"No, I don't mean for us here, but for the settlement—the block-house."
"Oh! I thought you meant they were coming here."
It was evident to any eye, that the savages below them were making preparations for some hostile expedition. Dingle judged it was against their own village from what the Frontier Angel had said. Most of the warriors were collected upon a large open space near one end of the village. Here several of their orators—stump speakers is a better term—were constantly haranguing them. The excited gesticulation, the bobbing of the head, and now and then a word could be heard by our two friends in concealment. The men were arrayed in the gaudy hideousness of war-paint, and to all appearances hugely delighted with the oratory that greeted their ears. Men were continually arriving and departing, sometimes nearly a score passing into the wood, and then reappearing in a short time again. Every second several shouts or yells pierced the air. The whole village was in commotion, and Dingle could as well have departed at once with the information that the Shawnees were again taking the war-path, and the settlement was most probably the object of their fury. But he determined to know more before he went back.
As it was getting darker, and the shrubbery and undergrowth were so dense as to afford a sure concealment in spite of the moon, which rose at a late hour, he felt no hesitation at making a much nearer approach.
In a short time they were within a hundred yards of the upper end. Here they both nestled down, and waited some time before making a further movement.
"Keep powerful quiet, while I look around!" admonished Dingle, crouching down and commencing to move off in the darkness.
"Here, hold on a minute," whispered Jenkins, eagerly catching the skirt of his hunting-dress; "how long are you going to be gone?"