The Indian again stopped and was silent. He knew by the words of Malachi that the wolf’s skin, with which the Indian had been covered when he was crawling to the palisades and had been shot by John, had been discovered; Malachi, after a while, renewed the conversation.
“Is the Young Otter of a near tribe?”
“The lodges of our tribe are twelve days’ journey to the westward,” replied the Indian.
“The chief of the Young Otter’s band is a great warrior?”
“He is,” replied the Indian.
“Yes,” replied Malachi. “The Angry Snake is a great warrior. Did he send the Young Otter to me to tell me that the white boy was alive and in his wigwam?”
The Indian again paused. He perceived that Malachi knew where he came from, and from whom. At last he said, “It is many moons since the Angry Snake has taken care of the white boy, and has fed him with venison; many moons that he has hunted for him to give him food; and the white boy loves the Angry Snake as a father, and the Angry Snake loves the boy as his son. He will adopt him, and the white boy will be the chief of the tribe. He will forget the white men, and become red as an Indian.”
“The boy is forgotten by the white man, who has long numbered him with the dead,” replied Malachi.
“The white man has no memory,” replied the Indian, “to forget so soon; but it is not so. He would make many presents to him who would bring back the boy.”
“And what presents could he make?” replied Malachi; “the white man is poor, and hunts with his young men as the Injun does. What has the white man to give that the Injun covets? He has no whisky.”