"Ish dat you, Oonomoo?" inquired Hans Vanderbum.
"Yeh--me--Oonomoo," replied the Indian, pronouncing his name somewhat
differently from the Dutchman, (and from that by which we have before
referred to him).
"Was dat you on de tree out dere?"
"Yeh, me--Oonomoo out dere on log."
"And did you make dem pieces of bark to come swimming down by me?"
"Yeh, me made 'em."
"And shtirred de water wid yer hand and moved de limb?"
"Yeh, Oonomoo do all dat."
"I shpose you wanted to see me?"
"Yeh, wanted to see you--want talk wid you," said the Huron, motioning
for Hans to follow him. The latter did not hesitate to do so, as he
had perfect faith in his honesty, knowing much of his history. The
savage led the way some distance into the woods, where they were not
likely to be seen or overheard, and then stopped and confronted his
companion.
"Where'd you come from, Oonomoo?" asked the latter.
"From fightin' de Shawnees," replied the savage, proudly.
"Yaw, I sees yer am in de war-paint. Did you get many?"
"The lodge of Oonomoo is full of the scalps of the cowardly Shawnees,
taken many moons ago," answered the Huron, his eyes flashing fire and
his breast heaving at the remembrance of his exploits. This reply was
made in the Shawnee language, as he spoke it as well as one of their
warriors; and, as Hans also understood it, the conversation was now
carried on in that tongue.
"When did you see Annie Stanton last?" inquired the Dutchman, showing
considerable interest.
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