Still Norman insisted that Mysticoose and his people would take their departure the next morning, and that they should then no longer be troubled by them.
Strict watch was kept at night, and all remained quiet in the Indian camp. Next morning the tents were still there, and no sign was perceived that the occupants had any intention of moving.
The day went by; but though the tents remained, the young chief did not make his appearance.
Norman was considerably put out. “I have no notion that the girls should be kept prisoners on account of an impudent Redskin,” he exclaimed. “I will go out to the tents, and advise the chief and his party, now that they have transacted their business, to take themselves off.”
“No, no, Norman, stay quiet, my lad,” answered his father; “they’ll not go faster for being ordered off; and it is just possible that the young chief may take it into his head to do you some harm. It will be a poor satisfaction to punish him afterwards.”
“I am not afraid of him, or of any other savage like him,” said Norman.
“Well, well, stay within the fort until I give you leave to go out,” said his father. “Young blood quickly gets up, and a quarrel may ensue, which it is better to avoid.”
Norman promised to obey; and, to vent his feelings by himself, went up to the platform, which was dignified by being called the ramparts, that he might take a look cut, and ascertain if there were any signs of moving in the camp of the Blackfeet. He watched in vain, though he made out in the far distance two figures on the prairie going in a south-westerly direction. The sun was nearly setting when he returned to the house. He found his mother and Sybil engaged in their usual work.
“It is too provoking to have that fellow stopping out there, as if he were laying siege to the fort. My father won’t allow me to go out, but I must get some one to inquire the chief’s intentions. It is absurd in him to suppose that Sybil would ever be induced to marry him. He can have no object in remaining, as his admiration cannot be very deep, for he has only seen her once for a few minutes.”
“I am not quite certain about that,” remarked Sybil; “I think that he has seen me more than once. Don’t you remember, when we were out riding, meeting with an Indian, whom you said was one of the Blackfeet, and who made Effie and me a long speech, though as we did not understand a word he said, we could not reply, but you talked to him, and laughed in his face. I thought that I recognised his features, though he was dressed and painted in so different a way that I may have been mistaken.”