"The chief must not go alone," said the Indian. "Quecheco will go to carry the deer which Soog-u-gest will shoot."
"A sensible Indian," said Philip. "Take him with you, Sir Christopher. For my part, I do not want his copper skin gliding like a snake among the bushes; and, Sir Christopher, look sharp, and see if I bring not back as much game as you and your friend."
"I accept the challenge," said the Knight, good-humoredly, "and will take him, since you prefer to go alone."
"I will none of him. He is thy valley-doo-doo—a murrain on mounseer for his hard words; and why a waiting-man should be called a valley, more than a mountain, or a river, doth pass my understanding."
"An interesting mystery. Yet is its solution unnecessary at the present. Get thy bow and quiver, Quecheco, and we will see by evening how Philip's boastings will turn out."
"And, hark ye, red-skin," cried the soldier, "take care that thou bring back Soog-u-gest, as thou callest Sir Christopher, safe, and with a good appetite to eat my game."
In spite of his habitual self-possession, the Indian started. A guilty conscience began already to affright him, and for an instant he fancied his purpose detected.
"What ails thee?" asked the Knight, regarding him with a quick, keen glance.
"Quecheco hurt his foot," answered the Indian, with a limp, and bending down to hide his face from the sharp eyes.
"Poor fellow, then, remain behind, and we will hunt for thee, who hast done so often for us."