The Shawnee village was about a mile distant, on the same bank of the
stream with that upon which our friends found themselves. As there was
not the least probability of Hans Vanderbum being astir for several
hours yet, they proceeded at a moderate walk through the wood. One of
the peculiar effects of this chilly morning air was to keep Lieutenant
Canfield constantly gaping; his movements were so languid and his mind
listless even to antipathy for conversation. He maintained his place
in silence beside Oonomoo. The Indian was as watchful and keen as ever.
As the young Lieutenant was yawning, and gazing around listlessly, he
caught a glimpse of some body, as it threw itself prostrate behind a
clump of bushes. He looked at the Huron and was startled to observe
upon his countenance no indication of having noticed this singular
occurrence.
"Oonomoo," he whispered, placing his hand upon his arm, "there's a
person behind the bush, and we are in danger. I saw him this very
minute."
"Me see'd 'em," said the Indian, walking straight toward the spot where
he was concealed.
This was too much for the young man. When he reflected that, in all
probability a rifle-barrel was leveled through those bushes, ready to
do its deadly work, he was not ashamed to halt and allow the Huron to
proceed alone. But, no fear seemed to enter the head of the Indian.
He strode straight forward, as if he had discovered something which he
was about to pick, and, reaching the bushes, he parted and stepped
among them.
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