“Very true, Alfred,” replied Henry; “but there is our mother waiting for us to go in to dinner.”
“Yes; and the Strawberry by her side. What a nice little creature she is!”
“Yes; and how quickly she is becoming useful. She has almost given up her Indian customs, and is settling down quietly into English habits. Martin appears very fond of her.”
“And so he ought to be,” replied Henry; “a wife with a smile always upon her lips is a treasure. Come, let us go in.”
Another fortnight passed, when an incident occurred which created some uneasiness. Mr Campbell was busy with Martin and Alfred clearing out the store-room and arranging the stores. Many of the cases and packages had been opened to be examined and aired, and they were busily employed, when, turning round, Mr Campbell, to his great surprise, beheld an Indian by his side, who was earnestly contemplating the various packages of blankets, etcetera, and cases of powder, shot, and other articles, which were opened around him.
“Why, who is this?” exclaimed Mr Campbell, starting.
Martin and Alfred, who had their backs to him at the time of Mr Campbell’s exclamation, turned round and beheld the Indian. He was an elderly man, very tall and muscular, dressed in leggings and deer-skin coat, a war-eagle’s feather, fixed by a fillet, on his head, and a profusion of copper and brass medals and trinkets round his neck. His face was not painted, with the exception of two black circles round his eyes. His head was shaved, and one long scalp-lock hung behind. He had a tomahawk and a knife in his belt, and a rifle upon his arm. Martin advanced to the Indian and looked earnestly at him.
“I know his tribe,” said Martin, “but not his name; but he is a chief and a warrior.”
Martin then spoke to him in the Indian tongue. The Indian merely gave an “Ugh” in reply.
“He does not choose to give his name,” observed Martin; “and, therefore, he is here for no good. Mr Alfred, just fetch Malachi; he will know him, I dare say.”