"Why, what makes you think there is anything the matter?" the young man queried.
"Dane so still. Dane no talk, no smile, no eat. Dane seek, mebbe.
Bad medicine, eh?"
Dane laughed and looked at his companion.
"I am all right, Pete," he assured. "But I've seen and heard great things to-day. I also knocked out two slashers, while the third ran away."
"A-ha-ha, good," the Indian grunted. "Dem all slashers in beeg canoe, eh?" and he motioned toward the harbour.
"No, no; they are King George's people. They were driven out of their own homes, and have come here. There are thousands of them, so I learned."
"All stay here?"
"Some will, but many will go up river, and settle on the land."
"Ugh! too many white men dere now. Chase Injun, kill moose, ketch feesh. Injun all starve."
"Don't you worry about that," Dane replied. "These are all King
George's people, so they will treat the Indians right."