The little fellow here renewed his plea, saying: “I saw him first and I want him to play with; he’s mine,” and he stamped his foot like a petty tyrant and seized Rodney by the hand, saying, “You’ll play with Louis?”
“I’ll be very glad to do so,” Rodney replied, looking at the Indian rather than at the boy who tugged at his hand.
“No hunt, what for here?” the Indian asked and his voice was stern.
Rodney hesitated a moment. The red man’s beady eyes, noting this, glittered. “I’m lost,” Rodney finally said, adding, “I want to get back to the river.”
“Humph!” And, having thus expressed himself, Caughnega turned to the work of skinning and cutting up the bear, in which task Rodney endeavoured to 56 assist, his efforts, however, being received quite ungraciously.
When all was done, the meat was tied into two bundles, one of which the Indian ordered Rodney to take and walk ahead. Now, walking ahead of a hostile savage is not a pleasant arrangement, but the boy tried to comfort himself with the thought that, so long as the Indian might wish the bundle carried, he would not kill the carrier. Then the little fellow ran alongside and took the older lad’s hand, an act of confidence and friendship the latter never forgot.
They forded the creek and climbed the bank to a small plateau overlooking a meadow through which the creek wound its way. Here, on this high land, were clustered about twenty huts or wigwams, some covered with skins and others with bark. As no one expected them, their approach did not excite especial commotion, fortunately for Rodney, otherwise he might have been compelled to run a gauntlet.
Caughnega stopped in front of one of the wigwams and motioned Rodney to enter.
Louis protested, saying, “He is mine, I found him,” but to no avail. Disappointed, he ran away, crying bitterly, while the scowling savage flung his prisoner into the hut, and indicated by word and gesture that the lad was not to leave it on peril of his life. Then he stalked away, and Rodney was left to the bitterness of his reflections.