“That must be the man who killed the wolf,” I exclaimed. “We must thank him, Lily.”
Lily had ever a great dread of Indians. “We must run! we must run, Roger!” she cried. “He may kill us as easily as he did the wolf, or carry us away prisoners.”
“We cannot escape him, Lily; and I do not think he will hurt us,” I answered in an encouraging tone. “I will go forward and thank him for saving my life. It will not do to show any fear; and if he is disposed to be friendly, he would think it ungrateful if we were to run off without thanking him.”
I took Lily’s hand as I spoke, and led her towards the Indian. He was dressed in skins, with an axe hanging from his belt, and had long black hair streaming over his shoulders,—unlike most of the Indians I had seen, who wear it tied up and ornamented with feathers. A small silver medal hung from his neck, and I guessed from this that he was a friend to the white men, and had received it as a token for some service he had rendered them.
He made a friendly sign as he saw us approach, and put out his hand.
“We come to thank you for killing the wolf that was about to spring upon me,” I said in English, for though I knew a few words of the Indian tongue, I could not at that time speak it sufficiently well to express what I wished to say.
“Kepenau is glad to have done you a service,” he answered in English. “I heard the young maiden cry out, and guessed that she would not do so without cause, so I hurried on to help you. But why are you so far from home? It is dangerous for unarmed people to wander in this forest.”
“We came out to gather berries, and were about to return,” said Lily. “You will not detain us?”
“Not if you wish to go,” answered the Indian.
“But come with me, and you shall return with something of more value than these berries.”