Some of them had seen what had happened, and started at full speed to help their Captain; but before they reached him, and he could give them his orders to pursue the fugitive, the latter had disappeared in the heart of the forest, toward which he had directed his rapid course.
The hunters, however, at the head of them being Sergeant Bothrel, rushed in pursuit of the Indian, swearing they would bring him in either dead or alive.
The Captain looked after them till he saw them disappear one after the other in the forest, and then returned slowly to the colony, reflecting on what had taken place between himself and the Redskin, and his heart contracted by a gloomy presentiment.
Something whispered to him that, for Monkey-face, generally so prudent and circumspect, to have acted as he had done, he must have fancied himself very strong, and quite certain of impunity.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
THE DECLARATION OF WAR.
There is an incomprehensible fact, which we were many times in a position to appreciate, during the adventurous course of our lengthened wanderings in America—that a man will at times feel the approach of a misfortune, though unable to account for the feeling he suffers from; he knows that he is menaced, though unable to tell when the peril will come, or in what way it will arrive; the day seems to grow more gloomy, the sunbeams lose their brilliancy, external objects assume a mournful appearance; there are strange murmurs in the air; all, in a word, seems to feel the impression of a vague and undefined restlessness.
Though nothing occurred to justify the Captain's fears after his altercation with the Pawnee, not only he, but the whole population of the colony felt under the weight of dull terror on the evening of this day.
At six o'clock, as usual, the bell was rung to recall the wood-cutters and herds; all had returned, the beasts were shut up in their respective stalls, and, apparently, at any rate nothing out of the common troubled the calm existence of the colonists.