By this I knew that Jennifer had escaped; nay, more; had somehow learned of my escape and was seeking me.
"Is that all the chief saw?" I asked.
"Ugh! See heap more things: see one thing white squaw no let him tell Captain Long-knife. Maybe some time tell, anyhow."
"The white squaw?" said I. "Who is she?"
The Catawba laughed, an Indian laugh, silent and suppressed; a mere shaking of the ribs.
"No can tell that, neither, too," he said. Then, with a swift dart aside from the subject: "Captain Long-knife care much 'bout black dogs yonder?"
I knew he meant the negroes at the hunting lodge.
"The white man cares for the black as a kind master should," I returned.
The Indian spat upon the ground in token of his hatred and contempt for all the black skins in his fatherland. I never understood this bitter race antipathy between the red and black, but 'tis a tale well written out in many a bloody massacre of that earlier day.
"The wolves will kill all the black dogs and drink their blood before the moon is awake. Uncanoola has spoken."