"This Raven-nest, eh?" continued the old chief, speaking directly, but with sufficient courtesy.
"As I have said. The village lies on the other side of that wood; the house from which the name is taken is a mile and a half in the other direction."
This, too, was translated, and a low, but general expression of pleasure was given.
"Any Injins 'bout here, eh?" demanded the chief, looking so earnestly at the same time as to surprise us both.
"Yes," answered my uncle. "There are Injins—a party is in the edge of the woods, there, within thirty rods of you at this moment."
With great rapidity this fact was communicated to the eager listeners, and there was a sensation in the party, though it was a sensation betrayed as such feelings are only betrayed among the aborigines of this part of the world; quietly, reservedly, and with a coldness amounting nearly to indifference. We were amused, however, at noting how much more interest this news awakened than would probably have been excited had these red-men been told a town like London was on the other side of the wood. As children are known to feel most interest in children, so did these children of the forest seem to be most alive to an interest in these unexpected neighbors, brethren of the same habits and race, as they unquestionably imagined. After some earnest discourse among themselves, the old chief, whose named turned out to be Prairiefire, once more addressed himself to us.
"What tribe, eh? Know tribe?"
"They are called Anti rent Injins—a new tribe in this part of the country, and are not much esteemed."
"Bad Injin, eh?"
"I am afraid so. They are not honest enough to go in paint, but wear shirts over their faces."