"Good heavens and earth! You don't think so, do you?" fairly gasped the man, trembling with affright.
"He Indian—he hear you talk—he come look for you."
"Oh, heaven! It won't do for me to stay here," whispered the poor fellow, beginning a cautious retreat that brought him into collision with the Mohawk, who was standing perfectly still, as if listening for something that would tell him what the real danger was.
Lena-Wingo threw him off with such force that he stumbled forward upon his hands and knees.
"What the blazes are you doing?" demanded the indignant Perkins, scrambling to his feet. "What's the use of knocking a feller over that way?"
By this time he was erect and gazing, or rather glaring, back into the gloom, as if to make sure where his man was standing and then demolish him. But, to his amazement, his man was not to be seen; he had fled,—driven away, as the settler believed, by the fear of the other Indians that were so near at hand. Perkins was silent for a moment, not knowing what he should do. Then he called the name of the Mohawk in a cautious tone:
"Hello! Leaner-Winger, where are you?"
But the silence gave no token, and he pronounced the name of Ned, Jo and Rosa in turn, without any further success.
"They've all left me," he muttered angrily. "All of them together haven't the courage that I have alone. Wall, I can get along without them if they can without me; but if there are Indians, I'll bet they'll be sorry they gave me the slip. It ain't every party that's lucky enough to have a man of my experience and skill and courage to help them out of trouble—blazes!"
The bravery of the settler, which had been growing during the silence succeeding the first alarm, suddenly collapsed when his ear caught a sound, precisely as if some one was stealing over the leaves toward him. There must be real danger after all!