CHAPTER XVII
THE CLOVEN HOOF
The grave face of the young Indian brave was undisturbed by a smile as he greeted the white youth whom he had not seen for more than a year. But he shook Enoch’s hand with an emphatic “Umph!” when the latter sprang ashore.
“Crow Wing!” exclaimed young Harding. “I thought you had forgotten us in these parts. You’ve been away a long time.”
“Umph! Injin no forget friends,” remarked Crow Wing, sententiously.
“And you’ve come here to see me–’way from Lake George?”
“Umph!” was again the non-committal answer. “Harding and Crow Wing go hunt,–shoot deer? Crow Wing need new moccasins,” and he thrust forward one foot on which was a ragged covering. But Nuck knew well enough the Indian had not traveled through the wilderness from Lake George merely for the pleasure of going on a deer hunt with him. But he said, doubtfully: “We’re pretty busy just now, Crow Wing. Can’t go far with you.”
“Not go far. Plenty deer yonder,” and he pointed in the direction of the lick where Jonas Harding had been killed. Nuck understood. “I’ll go with you. Will you come across and eat supper with us?”
But the Indian shook his head vigorously. “Will eat yonder. Have meat. Harding get rifle and blanket. Will make fire.”
He turned about instantly and plunged into the forest. Enoch was astonished by his manner and words, familiar as he was with the peculiarities of the red race. Crow Wing had never refused to eat with them before; he had always seemed to enjoy the “white squaw’s” cooking. But Enoch had no fear that his one-time enemy was playing him a trick. He paddled across the creek for his blanket, told his mother that he was going on a torchlight hunt, with whom he was going, and without further explanation returned to follow his red friend. He had noted the direction the young brave had taken. The way led directly to that little glade where, nearly four years before, he had spied upon Simon Halpen, the Yorker, and Crow Wing had driven him so ignominiously home. There was a fire here now, but the Indian was alone.
An appetizing odor of broiling flesh greeted the white youth, for it was already growing dark in the forest and Crow Wing was preparing supper. Enoch did not open the conversation, but busied himself with making a couple of bark platters out of which they might eat the meat when it was cooked. He was anxious enough to broach the subject uppermost in his mind; but he knew Crow Wing better than to do that. Anxiety, or curiosity, were emotions which only squaws gave way to, and Enoch would not exhibit his feelings and so disgust his red brother.