The place of encampment this night, selected by Uncle Peter, was very unfavorably situated. But when I advised him to allow me to select a more defensible location, on higher ground than that adjoining the small creek which he had chosen, the old German was obstinate.
"Tamn it, my poy! Don't you 'spose I know dem vellers. Dey von't hurt old Pete. You must give dem some crub, my poy! Dat ish all dey vants."
"That may be, Uncle Peter," I replied; "but I wouldn't trust the last three or four lots of red devils we have met, out of the range of my rifle."
Just at this moment a party of some dozen Indians approached the little camp, and the peaceful Peter motioning them with his hand, shouted out:
"Comes t'here!"
Understanding his inviting action, if not his words, they flocked around him. The old Dutchman gave them some bread, meat, and tobacco. Before they left us, he added to these things some powder and caps.
"A very dangerous gift," as I grumbled out in a low tone of voice.
When, after having got all they could, they quitted us, I expressed my wish to Uncle Pete to stand on guard during the night.
"Don't be a tamned vool!" was his reply. "I dink you ar' scared of dem Injins. If you vants, go on de hill, and leaff old Pete by himself. I hafe no vear."