When the old hunter landed and examined the thongs that were yet fast to the hounds, his countenance sensibly changed, and he shook his head doubtingly.
“Here has been a knife at work,” he said; “this skin was never torn, nor is this the mark of a hound's tooth. No, no—Hector is not in fault, as I feared.”
“Has the leather been cut?” cried Edwards.
“No, no—I didn't say it had been cut, lad; but this is a mark that was never made by a jump or a bite.”
“Could that rascally carpenter have dared!”
“Ay! he durst do anything when there is no danger,” said Natty; “he is a curious body, and loves to be helping other people on with their consarns. But he had best not harbor so much near the wigwam!”
In the mean time, Mohegan had been examining, with an Indian's sagacity, the place where the leather thong had been separated. After scrutinizing it closely, he said, in Delaware:
“It was cut with a knife—a sharp blade and a long handle—the man was afraid of the dogs.”
“How is this, Mohegan?” exclaimed Edwards; “you saw it not! how can you know these facts?”
“Listen, son,” said the warrior. “The knife was sharp, for the cut was smooth; the handle was long, for a man's arm would not reach from this gash to the cut that did not go through the skin; he was a coward, or he would have cut the thongs around the necks of the hounds.”