As the gloom of night descended, so also did a gloom settle upon Gummery Glyndon’s spirits, and he shook his long, gray locks discontentedly.
“There’s trickery here, and deviltry, and what not!” he cried. “Why, the Prophet was expecting the boys back—was all ready for them; and yet it was ten chances to one against their trusting themselves in his hands again.”
Robbins took a more favorable view of the matter.
“I differ with you there,” he said. “He must have seen Percy Vere’s great anxiety to learn tidings of his father, and so artfully worked upon his feelings to bring him back to him.”
Glyndon shook his head again; but he could not shake away the sudden foreboding that had seized upon his mind.
“Do you think he can tell the boy any thing about his father?” he returned.
“Ah! you are too much for me there; but it is not out of the range of probability. Who knows but what the father came this way, and that Smoholler knows something of his fate?”
Glyndon was impressed by this.
“That’s so,” he admitted.
“His spirits can tell him,” interrupted Multuomah.