“Now, father, please think before you speak.”
He muttered some reply and strode down the hill. Three hundred yards away was the provision cabin where Danforth stayed when he was in the settlement. It was kept by a German named Hans Winkler. It was not a “store,” for the few families which lived in the neighborhood were too poor to require such a thing. But the old German, thinking to turn an honest penny now and then, had brought on a few staple articles from the Eastern States, which he retailed out for furs, produce, etc., making a large profit on every thing.
The cabin stood on the bank of the river already mentioned. To this Jeffries strode, and after listening for a moment, knocked at the door loudly.
No answer. Hans must be asleep. He knocked again. Still all was quiet. Then he halloed. Yet the cabin was still.
He turned away, provoked; his bird had eluded his wrath for the present. Resolving to punish him severely at the first opportunity, he was striding away, when a faint voice, seemingly far away, came to his ears:
“You are treading on dangerous ground; take care!”
He stopped and listened intently; all was still. The placid stream flowed on quietly, leaving no sound; the night was still. He started on.
Before he had gone a yard, the same voice rung out in clarion tones, near, loud, and shrill:
“You are treading on dangerous ground; take care!”
The sound proceeded from a group of willows a few yards up the river bank. He darted to them. He entered their gloomy recesses, ready against surprise, and searched them through; but, though he beat them for an hour he found nothing, and heard the mysterious voice no more. Then he went home, wondering intensely.