Maxwell’s form quivered with a new-born hope. He knew that the time metaphorically stated by the chief, would be about that which had transpired since the alarm had arose, so closely following the desperate venture of Buenos Ayres. Could it be that he had been deceived—that the young man had indeed eluded the vigilance of his enemies, and was still at liberty?
For some moments Tom dared not trust himself to speak. He dreaded lest the swarthy Hercules should suspect the truth from his tones.
“You mean the feller who tried to stop me down thar? In the water?” he said, at a venture.
“Yeh.”
“You fellers didn’t see me, then, as I swum back up the river?”
“No. You do dat way?” eagerly asked the chief.
“In course. You hunted fer me, didn’t you? Ef I’d ’a’ stayed thar you’d ’a’ found me, wouldn’t ye?”
“Yeh, me see now. Injun he big fool dat time, but got you now. Keep you, too. Tek scalp bumbye. How you like burn at stake, eh? Laugh plenty loud, den, eh? T’ink so?” and the chief chuckled diabolically.
“Me—burn me? Git out—you’re crazy, Injun. Cain’t do that. Won’t burn; ’d putt the fire all out. I’m all frozen water, I be. Tell you what I’ll do. Bet ye my hat ’at I kin stan’ fire longer ’thout sizzlin’ ’n you kin. Thar now, what sez ye?”
The savage laughed a little at the sublime impudence of his captive, but then turned away and entered into conversation with several of the more prominent braves.