Not so George. He had a desire to know more of Black Bear, and went with Lance around to the back of the house.
"You won't find that Injun eating, sir; he don't want anything to eat. He wants to sneak into the house and see what sort of a place it is," said Lance.
Sure enough, when they reached the kitchen there was nothing to be seen of Black Bear, although the deer's carcass was hung up on a nail high above the ground, out of reach of the dogs. Cæsar, the cook—a fat, jolly negro, with a great white apron on—was standing in the kitchen door, looking around.
"Where is the Injun who brought that deer-meat here?" asked Lance.
"I's lookin' fur him now," responded Cæsar. "I didn' heah no soun', an' when I tu'n roun' d'yar was de carkiss hangin' 'n de nail. Dem Injuns is slicker 'n cats when dey move."
Lance, followed by George, passed into the kitchen, and through a short covered way which led to the lower part of the house. The covered way, and the kitchen too, were of the same rough stone half-way up. A few steps at the end of the covered way led down into the cellars where the arms and provisions were stored. It was quite dark down there, and Lance struck his flint and made a light. They had not gone far in the underground passage when George instinctively felt some one stealing by him. He turned quickly, and in a moment Black Bear was pinioned to the wall.
"What are you doing here?" asked Lance, gruffly.
The Indian, remaining perfectly still, said: "White man's house like rabbit-burrow. Injun get lost in it."
George, at a sign from Lance, let the Indian go, and he stalked solemnly out in front of them. Around outside Lance said,