Lord H---- began his account of what had happened between the Mohawk and the Hudson, with some circumlocution; for he did not feel at all sure of the effect it would produce upon his companion's mind; and the Woodchuck seemed to fall into one of those deep reveries in which one may be said to hear without hearing. He took not the slightest notice of what his noble visitor said regarding the burning of the wood or the danger of Mr. Prevost and Edith. It seemed to produce no more distinct effect than would the wind whistling in his ears. He sat calm and silent without an observation; but he grew more attentive, though only in a slight degree, when the narrator came to mention the anxiety of the family at the protracted absence of Walter.
When, at last, Lord H---- described the finding of the knife and the knapsack, and told of the conclusions to which the whole family had come, he started up, exclaiming--"What's that--what's that?" Then, after a moment's pause, he sank down upon his seat again, saying, with a groan, "They have got him--they have got him, and they will tomahawk him--the bloody, barbarous critturs! Couldn't they have chosen some more worthless thing than that?"
Pressing his hand tightly upon his forehead, as if he fancied the turbulent thoughts within would burst it, he remained for a moment or two in silence, till Lord H---- asked if he imagined they would execute their bloody purposes speedily.
"No, no," cried the man; "no fear of that; they'll take time enough, that's the worst of the savages. It's no quick rage, no angry heat, with them; no word and a blow. It's cold, bitter, long-premeditated hatred. They wouldn't have half the pleasure if they didn't draw out their revenge by the week or the month. But what's to be done now? Gracious God! what's to be done now?"
"That is precisely what I came to consult you upon," said Lord H----. "But let us talk over the matter calmly, my good friend. This is a case where grief, anger, and indignation can do nothing; but where deliberate thought, reason, and policy, even cunning such as their own (for if we could arrive at it, we should be quite justified in using it), may, perhaps, do something to save this poor boy."
"How the devil would you have me calm?" exclaimed the man, vehemently; but then, suddenly checking himself, he said, "You're right--you're right! I am forgetting my old habits in these smoky holes. Thought, cunning, those are the only things to do with an Indian. It's tarnation hard to outwit him, but it may be done when one knows his tracks well. I can't get my brain to hold steady to-night. This story's upset all my thoughts; and I've got no consideration in me. You must give me a night and a day to think over the matter; and then I'll see what's to be done. By the Lord, Walter shan't die! Poor fellow! what should he die for?--However, I guess it's no use talking in that sort of manner. I must think of what's to be done--that's the business in hand. I'll think as soon as I can, my lord; only you just tell me now all you have done, if you have done anything. As for Prevost, I don't suppose he's had time to do much; for though he is always right in the end, and no man's opinion is worth more, yet, if you touch his heart and his feelings, as you call them, his wits get all in a work, just like mine at this moment. More fool he, and I too!"
"We have done something," said Lord H----, in reply. "Mr. Prevost set out this morning to see Sir William Johnson."
"He is no good," growled Woodchuck, impatiently.
"I came hither to consult with you," continued Lord H----; "and we have commissioned the boatman whom they call Robert, a tall, stout man----"
"I know him--I know him," interposed Woodchuck; "passably honest--the best of them."