“Well, what news?” he asked, with as much calmness as was just then at his command.
“News?” said McCabe, in some surprise, “news? Why, really, sir, what sort of news have you been expecting?”
“I mean—what did Girty have to say?”
“Oh, Girty was not there,” answered the fellow, stretching himself on the grass. “He and one of his braves had started in chase of a deer just before I reached the ravine, and so I was obliged to leave my report to be delivered by the Indians.”
A fierce thrill of delight pervaded the whole being of Robbins at this intelligence, and he was compelled to turn his head away to conceal his joyful emotion!
CHAPTER XII.
THE MEETING IN THE WOOD.
The afternoon waned, and the sun went down behind the gold and crimson clouds that blended their brilliant hues in the western sky.
Night came on apace, and still the two men remained on the spot where the canoes of the Indians were concealed. Jim McCabe, however, began to grow restless, and it was plain that he wished to say something to his companion, which fear of the result prevented him from doing. He coughed and “ahem’d,” ran his trembling fingers through his hair, cast frequent glances through the darkening woods, in the direction of the ravine, and then amused himself by thrusting his hands into his pockets and pacing up and down with quick, nervous tread. Though fully understanding these demonstrations of uneasiness, and scarcely able to repress a smile in consequence thereof, yet Nick Robbins seemed to be entirely ignorant of the change that had taken place in his would-be friend. At last the troubled man appeared to have made up his mind. He stepped right in front of the hunter, and blurted out:
“I say, Robbins, shall we stay here until the Indians come, and join them in their attack on the whites?”