"You shall not harm a hair of his head!" cried Sandy. "I tell you it is impossible that he could have done so horrible a thing as try to burn our cabin. It may have been an Indian, as the tracks prove; but Blue Jacket, never!"
"Listen," said the cooler Bob; "why should he wish to attract our attention if he had done this deed? All he had to do was to remain hidden behind that tree, and we would have passed by without seeing him."
"But tell us why he came out holding his hands above his head; and for what reason should he wave the white rag?" demanded a fiery, half-grown fellow.
"You would have done the same had you seen several men armed, and ready to shoot at a sound, passing through the woods with torches," replied Bob, soberly. "Blue Jacket was wise enough to understand that sometimes people shoot first, and ask questions afterward."
The young Indian had listened with an impassive face to what was being said. From childhood had he been trained to hide all signs of emotion as unbecoming to a warrior. While he did not fully understand the reason for this hot-tempered action on the part of the young whites, still, doubtless, he could draw certain conclusions.
"No burn cabin. Blue Jacket been way off in hills and think best see white father, Sandy, Bob. On way when see fire flash through trees. Hide so can know what mean—not want get hurt, so wave white flag. Ugh! Blue Jacket talk with straight tongue; no lie!"
He held up his right hand, and looked aloft through the branches of the trees, as though calling upon the Great Spirit to witness that what he so solemnly declared was true.
"If he swears that he is innocent, let him prove it!" demanded the same young hothead who had before spoken.
"Just as you say," returned Bob, who had the utmost confidence in his copper-colored friend. "Come, let us all go back to where those moccasin tracks are, which we have followed from our cabin. We will soon see if they were made by those Blue Jacket has on."