Part 20 (1/2)
”He know--_dey_ won't move _him_--he get out way soon enough.”
”He's got too short legs,” said Dernor, who, aware of the affection the Huron bore him, and experiencing a sort of reaction of his spirits after their continued depression, was disposed to quiz Oonamoo a little.
”Got _long_ eyes, dough,” replied he, quickly.
”Got long eyes?” laughed Dernor. ”I don't know as they're any longer than mine.”
”Good 'eal longer. Tom 'Hara neber let Shawnee and Miami get him atween the logs--he know too much.”
Dernor felt the sarcasm of this remark and took it kindly.
”Neither would they have got me here, had I been alone.”
It would be difficult to describe the expression that illuminated the Huron's face at this remark. He turned his dark, basilisk orbs (their fierceness now subdued into a softer light) full upon Edith, who, seated upon a portion of one of the logs, was listening to the conversation. The muscles around the corners of his mouth twitched a little, a wrinkle or two gathered, his beautiful white teeth became visible, but she only half-suspected that he was smiling.
”Nice gal,” said he, his voice now as soft as a woman's. ”White man love her--fight for her--Oonamoo do so too.”
She did not know whether to be pleased or frightened at the look of the Huron. In her perplexity she turned toward Dernor.
”You needn't be alarmed,” said he, understanding her embarra.s.sment.
”Oonamoo here is an old and tried friend, and will stand by you as long as I will, which,” he added, in a lower tone, ”will be as long as the One above gives me breath. He is devoted to me if he doesn't love you.”
”Yes, Oonamoo does--he love all white folks--love the gals--clever to him and feed him when hungry.”
Dernor merely smiled, believing that the remark of the savage fully explained his pa.s.sion without any qualifying observation of his own.
”Oonamoo love white folks--love missionaries--tell him all about G.o.d up dere”--pointing upward--”spirit land--happy place--Oonamoo don't take scalp when Injin sleeping--so he go up dere when he die.”
”I believe you will, for if there ever was an honorable savage you are one,” said Dernor, warmly.
The Huron made no reply to this compliment, evidently thinking enough had been said. It must not be supposed that this conversation occurred in the connected form in which we have given it. Several moments sometimes elapsed between the different remarks, and hardly once during its progress did Dernor look at the savage. Once or twice he turned toward Edith, as also did Oonamoo, but the danger that menaced him was too great for either to be diverted from it.
Some twenty minutes had elapsed, when an exclamation from the Huron showed that some new scheme was afoot. Immediately after, a blazing arrow came whizzing through the air, and buried itself in the logs. The sharp crackling told that the twist of flame had communicated with the logs and it was burning.
”My G.o.d! are we to be burnt alive?” exclaimed Dernor, losing his self-possession for a moment.
”Ugh--can't burn--logs too wet--go out,” replied his unmoved companion.
So it proved, although an inch or two of some of the logs were sufficiently seasoned to take fire, they were all too damp and soaked to burn. Oonamoo had hardly spoken when the blaze went out of itself. A perfect storm of arrows, tipped with burning tow, now came sailing in upon them, but the only inconvenience they occasioned was a blinding, suffocating smoke, which lasted, however, but a few moments.
”Where the deuce did they get their bows and tow from?” asked Dernor.
”Do they carry such articles with them?”
”Sent for 'em after git here,” replied Oonamoo.
”Won't any of these logs burn?”
”Too wet--smoke--but won't blaze.”
The Indians soon found that nothing could be accomplished in the way of burning out the fugitives, so they ceased the attempt only to devise some other expedient. What this was to be, the besieged party for a long time were unable to determine. The first warning they had was a bullet, which grazed the face of Oonamoo, coming in at the _top_ of the fort.