Part 4 (1/2)

Roland took all this in at a glance as he seized his rifle and prepared for eventualities. According to the traditional painter of Indian life and customs the proper thing for this savage to have said is ”Ugh!” He said nothing of the sort. Nor did he give vent to a whoop and yell that would have awakened the wild birds and beasts of the forest and every echo far and near.

”Who goes there?” cried Roland, raising his gun.

”No shootee. No shootee poor Indian man. I friendee you. Plenty friendee.”

Probably there was a little romance about Roland, for, instead of saying: ”Come this way then, old chap, squat down and give us the news,”

he said sternly:

”Advance, friend!”

But the Indian stood like a statue.

”No undahstandee foh true.”

And Roland had to climb down and say simply:

”Come here, friend, and speak.”

Brawn rushed forward now, but he looked a terror, for his hair was all on end like a hyena's, and he growled low but fiercely.

”Down, Brawn! It's a good man, Brawn.”

Brawn smelt the Indian's hand, and, seeming satisfied, went back to the spot where Peggy sat wondering and frightened.

She gathered the great dog to her breast and hugged and kissed him.

”What foh you poh chillun sleepee all in de wood so? S'pose wild beas'

come eatee you, w'at den you do?”

”But, friend,” replied Roland, ”we are far from Burnley Hall, our home, and we have lost everything. We have lost our ponies, lost our way, and lost ourselves.”

”Poh chillun!” said this strange being. ”But now go sleepee foh true.

De Indian he lie on blanket. He watchee till de big sun rise.”

”Can we trust him, Peggy?”

”Oh yes, yes!” returned Peggy. ”He is a dear, good man; I know by his voice.”

In ten minutes more the boy and girl were fast asleep.

The Indian watched.

And Brawn watched the Indian.

When the sun went down on the previous evening, and there were no signs of the young folks returning, both Mr. St. Clair and his wife became very uneasy indeed.