While the discussion is at its height a new guest enters the room; who, soon as inside, makes a speech, which not only terminates the talk about sugar, but drives all thought of it out of their minds.
A speech of only four words, but these of startling significance: “There are Indians about!” ’Tis Hawkins who speaks, having entered without invitation, confident the nature of his news will hold him clear of being deemed an intruder.
And it does. At the word “Indians,” all around the table spring up from their seats, and stand breathlessly expectant of what the hunter has further to communicate. For, by his serious air, they are certain there must be something more.
Colonel Armstrong alone asks, the old soldier showing the presence of mind that befits an occasion of surprise.
“Indians about? Why do you say that, Hawkins? What reason have you to think so?”
“The best o’ reasons, colonel. I’ve seed them myself, and so’s Cris Tucker along with me.”
“Where?”
“Well, there’s a longish story to tell. If you’ll have patience, I’ll make it short as possible.”
“Go on!—tell it!”
The hunter responds to the demand; and without wasting words in detail, gives an epitome of his day’s doings, in company with Cris Tucker. After describing the savage troop, as first seen on the upper plain, how he and his comrade followed them across the river bottom, then over the ford, and there lost their trail, he concludes his account, saying: