“I do not see your oarsman, Posin,” remarked Glenn, the disclosure of Mary occurring to him—and then accosted Mary herself, who now joined them with her eyes cast down in apparent bashfulness.
“His absence is a mystery to me,” replied the old ferryman, “though I do not attach the same importance to it that Mary does.”
“Father”—uttered his daughter, and pausing in mingled timidity and dread, as if some undefinable forebodings of harm oppressed her.
“I’ll be shot if I understand all this to my liking,” said Sneak, staring at the great number of moccasin tracks that had been made round the enclosure, which truly indicated that more than the four chiefs present had been prowling there before daylight.
“Hush, Mr. Sneak!” said Joe; “they hear every word you say.”
“Jest let me alone a minute,” replied Sneak, getting down on his knees and examining the various foot-prints with great minuteness. When he rose he made some signs to Boone, which the others did not comprehend.
At this juncture several other Indians were seen to approach from the valley above, where the party had encamped. These painted visitors likewise came forward with sundry nods and gesticulations of friendship, at the same time exhibiting several furred articles of curious workmanship, and a few precious stones, as samples of what they wished to barter. A short conference then ensued between them and the head chief, which terminated in a pressing invitation for the whites to accompany them to their encampment.
“You may all do as you like—I shall stay here,” said Joe, stepping back towards the gate.
“You are a coward, Joe!” said Glenn; “you may remain, however, to prevent them from pilfering any thing while we are away,” and he turned towards the Indians for the purpose of accompanying them.
“Stay!” said Mary, in a distinct and startling tone.