“May I go, mother?” asked Dick, with a look of anxiety.
There was evidently a conflict in the widow’s breast, but it quickly ceased.
“Yes, my boy,” she said in her own low, quiet voice, “an’ God go with ye. I knew the time must come soon, an’ I thank Him that your first visit to the Red-skins will be on an errand o’ peace. ‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.’”
Dick grasped his mother’s hand and pressed it to his cheek in silence. At the same moment Crusoe, seeing that the deeper feelings of his master were touched, and deeming it his duty to sympathise, rose up and thrust his nose against him.
“Ah! pup,” cried the young man hastily, “you must go too. Of course Crusoe goes, Joe Blunt?”
“Hum! I don’t know that. There’s no dependin’ on a dog to keep his tongue quiet in times o’ danger.”
“Believe me,” exclaimed Dick, flashing with enthusiasm, “Crusoe’s more trustworthy than I am myself. If ye can trust the master yer safe to trust the pup.”
“Well, lad, ye may be right. We’ll take him.”
“Thanks, Joe. And who else goes with us?”
“I’ve bin castin’ that in my mind for some time, an’ I’ve fixed to take Henri. He’s not the safest man in the valley, but he’s the truest, that’s a fact. And now, younker, get yer horse an’ rifle ready, and come to the block-house at daybreak to-morrow. Good luck to ye, mistress, till we meet agin.”