Make too many sign, no to see."
"What think you--shall we wait till the warriors are asleep, or try
to be off before the sentinel comes?"
"Bess wait, if one t'ing. You got rifle--got tomahawk--got knife,
eh?"
"I have them all, though my rifle is a short distance behind me, and
a little down the hill."
"Dat bad--nebber let go rifle on war-path. Well, YOU tomahawk him--
_I_ scalp him--dat'll do."
"I shall kill no man, Chippewa, unless there is great occasion for
it. If there is no other mode of getting you off, I shall choose to
cut this last thong, and leave you to take care of yourself."
"Give him tomahawk, den--give him knife, too."
"Not for such a purpose. I do not like to shed blood without a good
reason for it."
"No call war good reason, eh? Bess reason in world Pottawattamie dig
up hatchet ag'in' Great Fadder at Wash'ton--dat no good reason why
take his scalp, eh?"
In whispering these last words the Chippewa used so much energy,
that the dogs again raised their heads from between their forepaws
and growled. Almost at that instant the chief and his few remaining
wakeful companions laid themselves down to sleep, and the young
warrior designated as the sentinel left the hut and came slowly
toward the prisoner.
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