“Bart, my lad,” said Joses, holding out his rough hand, which the boy readily grasped, “if you ask me for a bit of advice, as one who knows pretty well what unfriendly Injun is, I’ll give it to you.”
“I do ask it, Joses, for it horrifies me to think of trying to take a man’s life.”
“Of course it does, my lad; so it used to me. But here’s my bit of advice for you:—Whenever you meet Injun, don’t trust ’em till they’re proved to be of the right grit. Don’t hurt a hair of any one of their heads, and always be honest in dealing with them. But if it comes to fighting, and you see they mean your life, fight for it like a man. Show ’em that an English boy has got a man’s heart, only it’s young, and not full growed. Never give up, for recklect that if the Injuns get hold of you it means death—horrible death—while if you fight you may beat ’em, and if you don’t it’s only death all the same.”
“But it seems so dreadful to shoot at a man, knowing that you may kill him.”
“So it does, my lad, but it’s ever so much more dreadful for them to shoot at you. They’ve only got to leave you alone and it’s all right.”
Just then the Beaver came cantering up to them, gently lying right down upon his horse.
“Jump off, Master Bart,” cried Joses; “there’s buffler in sight, and we don’t want to scare ’em.”
Setting the example, he slid from his horse, and stood behind it, Bart imitating his acts, and they waited there till the Beaver came up, and pointed towards an opening in the distance, where, for the moment, Bart could see nothing; but watching attentively, he soon made out what seemed to be a dark patch moving slowly towards them.
“Are those bison?” he whispered to Joses; though the objects at which he gazed were miles away.
“No, they aren’t,” growled Joses; “them’s buffler, and they’re a feeding steadily on in this way, so that we shall be able to get a good few, I hope, and p’r’aps drive two or three a long way on towards the camp, so as to save carrying them there.”