Sam was not sure of Thlucco. His knowledge of the Indian character did not predispose him to trust Indian professions of friendship, and he strongly suspected treachery of some sort here. He thought it possible that this was only a scheme to entrap his secret and himself, and he had gone to the conference determined to be on his guard, and in the event of trouble, to use the stout cudgel which he carried as vigorously as possible.
"If we are to talk," he said to the man, "you must come with me."
The man hesitated, afraid, apparently, of treachery.
"I do not know you," he said, "and the Indian may have lied."
"Listen to me," said Sam in reply, "I do not know you, and the Indian may have lied to me. Yet I have trusted myself here in the dark. You must trust something to me. Go with me, and when we have talked together for an hour, if you wish to return here, I pledge you my word of honor, as a gentleman's son, to bring you back safely. If you will not go with me, we may as well part at once. I positively will not say another word, I'm going. Follow me in silence, or stay here, as you please."
With that Sam opened the door and walked out. The man quickly extinguished the light and crept after Sam, in his bare feet.
Sam led the way by a route just outside the town, without exchanging a word with his companion. Half an hour's walking brought them to the lonely strip of beach on which Sam had landed.
"Whip-Will's Widow," whistled Sam, shrilly.
His companion started back in affright, and was on the point of running away, when Sam seized him by the arm, and, shaking him vigorously, said:—
"I'll not play you false. Trust me. I have a boat here."