"Good!" interrupted the Indian with emphasis, assuming a dignity of manner the major had never before witnessed. "Wyandotté come--Nick gone away altogeder. Nebber see Sassy Nick, ag'in, at Dam."
"I am glad to hear this, Tuscarora, and as Maud says, you may speak plainly."
"T'ink, den, best be ready. Mohawk feel worse dan if he lose ten, t'ree, six scalp. Injin know Injin feelin'. Pale-face can't stop red-skin, when blood get up."
"Press on, then, Wyandotté, for the sake of God--let me, at least, die in defence of my beloved mother!"
"Moder; good!--Doctor Tuscarora, when death grin in face! She my moder, too!"
This was said energetically, and in a manner to assure his listeners that they had a firm ally in this warlike savage. Little did either dream, at that instant, that this same wayward being--the creature of passion, and the fierce avenger of all his own fancied griefs, was the cause of the dreadful blow that had so recently fallen on them.
The sun still wanted an hour of setting, when Nick brought his companions to the fallen tree, by which they were again to cross the rivulet. Here he paused, pointing to the roofs of the Hut, which were then just visible through the trees; as much as to say that his duty, as a guide, was done.
"Thank you, Wyandotté," said Willoughby; "if it be the will of God to carry us safely through the crisis, you shall be well rewarded for this service."
"Wyandotté chief--want no dollar. Been Injin runner--now be Injin warrior. Major follow--squaw follow--Mohawk in hurry."
This was enough. Nick passed out of the forest on a swift walk--but for the female, it would have been his customary, loping trot--followed by Willoughby; his arm, again, circling the waist of Maud, whom he bore along scarce permitting her light form to touch the earth. At this instant, four or five conches sounded, in the direction of the mills, and along the western margin of the meadows. Blast seemed to echo blast; then the infernal yell, known as the war-whoop, was heard all along the opposite face of the buildings. Judging from the sounds, the meadows were alive with assailants, pressing on for the palisades.