"You 'member Bill Scott?" Solomon whispered.
"Yes. We spent a night in his house."
"He were a mean cuss. Sold rum to the Injuns. I allus tol' him it were wrong but--my God A'mighty!--I never 'spected that the fire in the water were a goin' to burn him up sometime. No, sir--I never dreamed he were a-goin' to be punished so--never."
They lay back against the log with their one blanket spread and spent the night in a kind of half sleep. Every little sound was "like a kick in the ribs," as Solomon put it, and drove them "into the look and listen business." The woman was often crying out or the cow and horses getting up to feed.
"My son, go to sleep," said Solomon. "I tell ye there ain't no danger now--not a bit. I don't know much but I know Injuns---plenty."
In spite of his knowledge even Solomon himself could not sleep. A little before daylight they arose and began to stir about.
"I was badly burnt by that fire," Jack whispered.
"Inside!" Solomon answered. "So was I. My soul were a-sweatin' all night."
The morning was chilly. They gathered birch bark and dry pine and soon had a fire going. Solomon stole over to the thicket where the woman and child were lying and returned in a moment.
"They're sound asleep," he said in a low tone. "We'll let 'em alone."