“Now!” he exclaimed, springing to the ground and glancing up at the fire taking firm hold on the clapboards. “Now, I fancy as how the fellow will show himself.”
His surmises proved correct.
The tenants of his cabin did show themselves. The roof of the cabin was soon in a blaze, and the twain watched the door with ready rifles. A lurid light overspread the clearing, and bathed the bosom of the river in romantic beauty.
By and by the trapper began to think that, after all, he had surmised incorrectly, for the howls of a dog emanated from the burning building. Silver Hand listened to the cries, the suspicious part of his nature fully aroused, and himself undecided how to act.
Wolf-Cap wanted to save his dog, and the Indian noted the working of his face in the firelight that stole to their retreat.
“Silver Hand, I’ve been taken in,” said Belt, suddenly. “I can’t hear Dick howl that way. By Huron! he shan’t cry for mercy when I am about!”
“But why he keep still so long?” retorted Silver Hand, quickly. “Trapper answer that if he kin!”
It is doubtful whether Wolf-Cap caught the gist of the Wyandot’s sentences, for he jerked his arm from the red fingers that encircled it, and rushed in to the firelight.
The thought of his noble dog—the guardian of his life and home for many years—cooped up within a blazing building, blinded him to the arguments of caution, and the Indian muttered an oath and leaped to his feet when he saw that Wolf-Cap was gone!
The daring trapper had reached the path that led from his door to a spring near the river, when he suddenly paused.