"Well, Paul," he said, "I've seen 'em off, an' a-tween you and me, I'd rather be right here on this here haunted islan', a-hobnobbin' with Injun ghosts an' havin' a good, comfortable, easy time, than be dodgin' braves, an' feelin' every minute to see ef my scalp is on out thar among the Injun villages."
"You don't think they'll be taken?" asked Paul, in some alarm.
Long Jim Hart laughed scornfully.
"Them fellers be took?" he said. "Why, they are the best three woodsmen in North Ameriky, an', fur that, in the hull world. Nobody can take 'em, an' if they wuz took, nobody could hold 'em. You could have Henry Ware tied to the stake, with fifty Shawnees holdin' him an' a thousand more standin' aroun', an' he'd get away, certain sure."
Paul smiled. It was an extravagant statement, but it restored his confidence.
"And meanwhile we are safe here, protected by ghosts," he said. "Do you believe in ghosts, Jim?"
Jim Hart looked up at the black rim of the forest, and then edged a little closer to the fire.
"No, I don't," he said, "but sometimes I'm afeard of 'em, jest the same."
Paul laughed.
"That's about the way I feel, too," he said, "but they're mighty handy just now, Jim. They're keeping us safe on this island. You won't deny that?"