"Set your steps in mine," said Woodchuck, speaking in a whisper over his shoulder to Lord H----, "then we shall be real Indians. Don't you know that when they go out on the war path, as they call it, each man puts down his foot just where his leader put down his before? So, come dog, come cat, no one can tell how many went to Jack Pilberry's barn."
"But do you think there is any real danger?" asked Lord H----.
"There is always danger in a dark wood and a dark eye," answered Woodchuck, with a laugh, "but no more danger here than in Prevost's cottage, from either the one or the other, for you or for Walter. As for me, I am safe anywhere."
"But you are taking strange precautions where there is no danger," replied Lord H----, who could not banish all doubts of his wild companion. "You speak in whispers, and advise us to follow all the cunning devices of the Indians in a wood which we passed through fearlessly yesterday."
"I am just as fearless now as you were then, if you passed through this wood," answered Brooks, in a graver tone, "but you are not a woodsman, or you'd understand better. What I mean, sir, is that we are so often in danger, we think it best to act as if we were always in it; and never knowing how near it may be, to make as sure as we can that we keep it at a distance. You cannot tell there is not an Indian in every bush you pass, and yet you'd chatter as loud as if you were in any lady's drawing-room. But I, though I know there is ne'er a one, don't speak louder than a grasshopper's hind legs, for fear I would get into the habit of talking loud in the forest."
"There is some truth, my friend, I believe in what you say," replied Lord H----, "but I hear a sound growing louder and louder as we advance. It is the cataract, I suppose."
"Yes, just the waterfall," answered the other, in an indifferent tone. "Down half a mile below it Master Walter will find the boat that will take him to Albany. Then you and I can snake up by the side of the river till we have gone as far as we have a mind to. I shouldn't wonder if we got a shot at somewhat on four, a moose or a painter, or a looksevere, or something of that kind. Pity we haven't got a canoe or a batteau, or something to put our game in."
"In heaven's name, what do you call a looksevere?" asked Lord H----.
"Why, the French folks call it a loup-cervier," answered Brooks. "I guess you never saw one. But he is not as pleasant as a pretty maid in a by-place, is he, Walter? He puts himself up into a tree, and there he watches, looking full asleep; but with the devil that is in him moving every joint of his tail the moment he hears anything come trotting along; and when it is just under him down he drops upon it plump, like a rifle shot into a pumpkin."
The conversation then fell off into a word or two spoken now and then, and the voice of the waters grew loud and more loud until Lord H---- could hardly hear his own footfalls. The more practised ear of Brooks, however, caught every sound, and at length he exclaimed: "What's alive? Why are you cocking your rifle, Walter?"