“What? a redskin!” exclaimed Dame Gore in surprise; “is he dead?”
“No, nor likely to die,” said Robin, “he’s in a starvin’ state though, an’ll be none the worse of a bit of our New Year’s dinner. Here is game enough for one meal an’ more; come, lass, get it ready as fast as may be.”
So saying the bold hunter passed through the Fort gate, dragging the red man behind him.
Chapter Three.
Preparations for a Feast.
“Why so grave, Robin?” inquired Mrs Gore, when her husband returned to the parlour after seeing Wapaw laid in a warm corner of the kitchen, and committed to the care of Larry O’Dowd.
“Molly, my dear, it’s of no use concealin’ things from you, ’cause when bad luck falls we must just face it. This Injun—Wapaw, he calls himself—tells me he has com’d here a-purpose, as fast as he could, to say that his tribe have resolved to attack me, burn the Fort, kill all the men, and carry you off into slavery.”
“God help me! can this be true?”