“For shame,” said the latter, colouring with indignation; “can you suspect treachery in him? Did you not yourself say he could not lie?”
“Your reproof is undeserved,” said the cool and wary hunter; “War–Eagle may not be alone, there may be turkey–buzzards with him.”
“If there be a score of vultures,” said Reginald, “I will follow him without fear—he would not lead us into harm.”
“Perhaps you are right,” was the guide’s answer; and again the party resumed their march in silence.
They soon arrived at a place where the forest was less densely wooded; some of the larger trees appeared to have been overthrown by a hurricane, and some of the lesser to have fallen by the axe. Nekimi trotted forward, as if making for a spot that he recognised, and the Indian recalled him with the same cry that he had before used, adding, however, another, and a shriller sound.
The guide shook his head, and muttered something inaudibly between his teeth, loosening at the same time the huge axe in his belt, and throwing his long rifle over his arm, ready for immediate use.
These preparations did not escape the observation of Reginald; and although he said nothing, he felt more uneasy than he cared to own; for it struck him that if the guide, who seemed to have so high an opinion of War–Eagle, was apprehensive of treachery or of some unforeseen danger, there was less ground for his own confidence.
Meantime the Indian walked composedly forward until he reached the camp[6],—a pretty spot, sheltered on the windward side by a laurel thicket, and on the other commanding a view of the open glade, and of a small stream winding its silent course towards the river which our party had so lately left.
On a grassy plot, between two venerable trees, the embers of a smouldering fire sent up the thin blue vapour which rises from the burning of green wood, several logs of which were still piled for fuel; while sundry bones and feathers, scattered at no great distance, gave sufficient evidence of recent feasting.