Pressing his hand tight 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 and 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 them, but it may be done when one knows his tracks well. I can't get my brain to hold steady tonight; this story has 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 sha'n'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 now tell me all you have done, if you've done anything. As for Prevost, I don't suppose he's had time to do much, for though he's 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 minute. 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's 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!" said Woodchuck. "Passably honest--the best of them."
"Well, we have commissioned him," resumed the young nobleman, "to seek for some Indian runner, or half-breed, to carry news of this event to Otaitsa, whom Edith believes the tribe will keep in the dark in regard to the capture of Walter."
"Likely, likely," said the Woodchuck. "Miss Prevost understands them. They'll not tell the women anything, for fear they should meddle. They've a poor opinion of squaws. But the girl may do a great deal of good, too, if you can get the tidings to her. She's not as cunning as the rest of them, but she has more heart and soul, and resolution, too, than a whole tribe of Indian women--that comes of her mother being a white woman."