"At any rate I'll stir him up," he concluded, resolutely approaching.
The growls were now redoubled, and he really believed some four-footed
animal was the cause of all the uproar.
"It may be the Shawnees have attempted a little pleasantry after their
bloody work, and caged up some poor creature within those logs,"
thought he. "I'll let him loose if such be the case."
He placed his hand upon the stump of a log nearest to him, when a
thunderbolt appeared to have exploded before him. He started back as
though he had received an electric shock. A perfect battery of howls
was leveled against him, and for a moment his ears were stunned with
the deafening uproar. He determined, however, to solve the mystery.
Giving the structure a push that brought it tumbling to the ground, he
sprung back and held his rifle prepared for any foe, were he a
four-footed or a two-footed one. Instead of either, what was his
amazement to see a negro, as black as midnight, emerge from the ruins,
and cringe at his feet.
"Oh, Mr. Injine, please don't shoot! please don't kill me! Nice, good
Mr. Injine, don't hurt me! Please don't tomahawk poor Cato! He never
hurt an Injine in all his life. Please don't! Oh, don't! don't!
don't! boo-hoo! oo!-oo-oo!"
"Get up, get up, Cato, and don't make a fool of yourself," said the
Lieutenant, recognizing in the frightened negro the favorite servant of
Captain Prescott's family.
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