Now for my part I could not help thinking a great deal, and worrying so much about the future that my thoughts would not let me sleep.
My thoughts generally took this form—“Suppose—” And then I used to be supposing: suppose Mrs John were taken much worse and died; suppose the party were attacked by Indians; suppose they never got across all that great stretch of country; suppose Esau and I were lost in the woods, to starve to death, or drowned in the river, and so on, and so on; till toward morning sleep would come, and I began dreaming about that long-haired dark Yankee loafer, who had got hold of me, and was banging my head against the ground, and trying to kill me, till I opened my eyes the next morning and found that it was Esau.
“I say,” he cried, grinning, “don’t you ever call me a sleepy-headed chap again. Why, I’ve been shaking you, and doing everything I could to rouse you up.”
“Oh,” I exclaimed, “I am so glad! I was dreaming.”
“As if I didn’t know. Why, you were on your back snorting, and puffing, and talking all sorts of nonsense. That’s eating ’Merican pie for supper.”
“I couldn’t go to sleep for hours.”
“Yah! that’s what mother always said when she was late of a morning, and I had to light the fire. I say, wonder how they are getting on?”
“So do I. I lay thinking about them last night, hoping they wouldn’t be attacked by Indians.”
“I don’t think an Indian would like to attack my mother again. She ain’t a big woman, but she has got a temper when it’s roused. Make haste; I want my breakfast.”
I was not long in dressing, and on going down we found Mr Gunson waiting for us, and looking more sour, fierce, and forbidding than ever.