"Sartain as my name is Gershom," exclaimed Waring, just after he and
Ben had come to a halt, in order to look around them--"yonder is an
Injin! The crittur' is seated at the foot of the large oak--
hereaway, more to the right of the dog, and Hive has struck his
scent. The fellow is asleep, with his rifle across his lap, and
can't have much dread of wolves or bears!"
"I see him," answered le Bourdon, "and am as much surprised as
grieved to find him there. It is a little remarkable that I should
have so many visitors, just at this time, on my hunting-ground, when
I never had any at all before yesterday. It gives a body an
uncomfortable feeling, Waring, to live so much in a crowd! Well,
well--I'm about to move, and it will matter little twenty-four hours
hence."
"The chap's a Winnebago by his paint," added Gershom--"but let's go
up and give him a call."
The bee-hunter assented to this proposal, remarking, as they moved
forward, that he did not think the stranger of the tribe just named;
though he admitted that the use of paint was so general and loose
among these warriors, as to render it difficult to decide.
"The crittur' sleeps soundly!" exclaimed Gershom, stopping within
ten yards of the Indian, to take another look at him.
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