“Nonsense; it’s deer’s flesh.”
“Mass’ George sewer?”
“Yes, quite.”
“Oh!”
That was all the boy said, for he set to work directly and soon finished his portion, taking a good deep drink afterward; and as soon as he had done one of the Indians secured his hands again, a task which necessitated a loosening of the hide rope, Pomp submitting with a very good grace.
Then came my turn, and as soon as I was secured, the Indians went slowly back to where the others were grouped, and squatted down to listen to the talking going on.
It was a weary, weary time; the sun was getting lower, and birds came and chirped about in the dense branches of the trees to which we were bound, and I felt a strange feeling of envy as I looked up from time to time and thought of their being at liberty to come and go. And all through those painfully long hours the talking went on constantly about the fire, which one or the other of the Indians made up by throwing on some branches of wood.
As I watched them, I saw that they kept going and coming in different directions, so that the number in the camp did not vary much, and though the day wore on, there was no cessation of the talking, for there was always a fresh Indian ready to leap to his feet, and begin relating something with the greatest vehemence, to which the rest listened attentively.
“They must be going on to the settlement to-night,” I thought; and as I noted their bows, arrows, axes, and knives, I conjured up horrors that I felt would be sure to take place if we could not get free and give the alarm.
All sorts of plans occurred to me. The forest would, I felt, be full of the enemy, and if we could get loose there would be no chance of our stealing away without being captured. But could we get across the river in safety, and make our way along the farther bank; or could we swim down? I shuddered as I thought of what would be the consequences of trying such a feat.