"The fact is, my good friend," replied Lord H----, in a low tone, "the day I came down to your landing last, one of the Oneidas was unfortunately killed, and we are told that they will have some white man's life in retaliation."
"To be sure they will!" rejoined the man, with a look of consternation. "They'll have blood for blood, if all of 'em die for't. But did Master Walter kill him?"
"No," replied Lord H----; "it was our friend the Woodchuck; but he did it entirely in self-defence."
"What, Brooks?" exclaimed the boatman, in much surprise. "Do let's hear about it, and I guess I can tell you how it will all go, better than any other man between this and Boston." And he seated himself on the slump of a tree, in an attitude of attention.
Very briefly, but with perfect clearness, Lord H---- related all that occurred on the occasion referred to. The boatman listened with evident anxiety, and then sat for a moment in silence, with the air of a judge pondering over the merits of a case just pleaded before him.
"I'll tell you how it is, my lord," he said at length, in an oracular tone; "they've got him, depend on't. They've caught him here in the forest. But, you see, they'll not kill him yet--no, no; they'll wait. They've heard that Woodchuck has got away, and they've kidnapped young Walter to make sure of some one. But they'll stay to see if they can't get Brooks into their clutches somehow. They'll go dodgering about all manner o' ways, and try every trick you can think of to lure him back. Very like you may hear that they've killed the lad; but don't you believe it for a good many months to come. I guess it's likely they'll set that story afloat just to get Brooks to come back; for then he'll think that they've had all they wanted, and will know that he's safe from all but the father, or the brother, or the son of the man he killed. But they'll wait and see. Oh, they're the most cunningest set of critturs that ever dived, and no doubt of it! But let's get on, for the others are up--there's a red-coat through the trees there--and they may perhaps have scalped the boy, though I don't think it's nohow likely."
Thus saying, he rose, and led the way again through the dark glades of the wood, till the clearer light of day, shining amidst the trunks and branches on before, showed that the party was approaching the spot where the late conflagration had laid the shady monarchs of the forest low. Suddenly, at a spot where another trail crossed, the soldier who was with them stooped down and picked something up off the ground, saying--
"Here's a good large knife, anyhow."
"Let me see--let me see!" cried the boatman; "that's his knife, for a score of dollars. Ay! 'Warner, London,' that's the maker; it's Walter's knife. But that shows nothing--he might have dropped it; but he's come precious near the fire, he surely would never try to break through and get himself burnt to death. If the Ingians had got him, I should have thought they'd have caught him farther back. Hallo! what are they all a-doing on there? They've found the corpse, I guess."
The eyes of Lord H---- were bent forward in the same direction; and, though his lips uttered no sound, his mind had asked the same question and come to the same conclusion. Three negroes were standing gathered together round some object lying on the ground; and the figure of Mr. Prevost himself, partly seen, partly hidden by the slaves, appeared sitting on a fallen tree, with his head resting on his hand, contemplating fixedly the same object which seemed to engage all the attention of the negroes.