"No go," pleaded the young warrior.
"You must go!" retorted Sam Oliver harshly.
Peleg sympathized with the stranger. He understood, he thought, the desire of the returning white man to shield his foster-father and brother. The young hunter was now convinced that his visitor had spoken truthfully.
"Sam," he ventured to suggest, "this young brave was stolen when he was a little child, and he has lived with his Shawnee father ever since. He doesn't want to betray him. You cannot blame him for that, can you?"
"There is only one way to deal with the varmints!" retorted Sam hotly. "You might just as well try to make a pet out of a nest of rattlesnakes as to try to be friends with an Indian. No, sir! This—whatever he is, white man, or red man—he must prove what he has said, and the only way for him to do it is to take us to the place where he pretends that canoe is buried in the ground."
The brutal manner of the hunter apparently had made a deep impression upon the stranger. With manifest reluctance he finally consented to conduct the party to the place where the canoe was buried. It was well known among the settlers that the Indians, after their voyages on the river, buried their light canoes to prevent them from being warped by sun and rain.
"You go where owl cry. Owl scream, me fader—iron——" The stranger stopped as if he was unable to recollect the word he wished to use, making motions with his hands to describe what he wished to say.
Peleg suggested, "Was it an iron kettle?"
A vigorous nod from the stranger indicated that was the word he was trying to recall, and he continued, "Me fader hide iron kettle in hole in tree. Me show you."