“My brother the young chief is tired,” he said. “I am strong. Now we will travel faster to my cabin, where we will rest again.”
The Indian led up hill and down, through the woods, at a fast walk which made even the Hunter puff; and after they had gone ten miles Washington’s legs wished to stop.
“We’re veering too much to the north,” he panted. “I can tell by the compass. Supposing we halt and get our bearings.”
Gist and the Hunter were right willing to stop; and while Washington argued with the Indian in the sign language Gist said, to the Hunter:
“We must watch close. This fellow thinks evil.” And Robert nodded.
The Indian did not like to stop.
“The young chief my brother is tired, so I will carry his gun too, for him,” he said and tried to seize the gun. When Washington refused, the Indian grew angry.
“To camp in these woods is foolish,” he complained. “Ottawas of the French are somewhere about. While we sit in camp they will take our scalps. We will be safe in my cabin.”
“Where is your cabin now?” Gist asked.