So saying, he lay down in one corner of the cabin, and settled himself apparently to repose.
“But,” said Philip, “we don’t want to take your bed.”
“No matter!” said the Indian once more.
“You are very kind,” said Philip. “Henry, we may as well lay down again.”
Henry obeyed directions, but he was not altogether free from alarm. He had read that the Indians are very crafty. How did he know but their copper-colored host might get up in the night, skillfully remove their scalps, and leave them in a very uncomfortable plight?
“Hadn’t we better get up, and run away as soon as he is asleep?” he whispered to Philip.
“No; he’s friendly,” answered Philip confidently.
As Henry had read about friendly Indians—all he knew about Indians, by the way, was derived from reading stories written by authors little wiser than himself—he concluded that perhaps there was nothing to fear, and after a while fell asleep again.
When the boys awoke it was morning. They looked toward the corner where the Indian had lain down, but it was vacant.
“He’s gone.” said Henry, rather relieved.