“Dat gal wanted to marry mit me once.”

“Why no marry den?” inquired Oonomoo, also coming back to the more difficult language.

“She wan’t te right kind of a gal—­she wan’t like my Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock, dat is de same shape all de way down from her head to her heels.  So I let dat Ferrington have her.”

The Huron, who understood all about that matter, indulged in a broad smile at this remark.  Whatever his business was, it was manifest he was in no hurry, else he would not have indulged in this by-play of words with his friend.

“You doesn’t t’ink de baby will dies, does you?”

“No—­in de settlement—­Shawnee can’t git her now—­don’t live off in de woods like as dey did afore.”

“Dat’s lucky for her; don’t t’ink dey will get her there, ’cause dey tried it once—­dat time, you remember, when we was all in de Hunter’s cabin in de woods, and you came down de chimney, and I watched and kept de Shawnee off.”

The Huron signified that he remembered the circumstance well.

“Dem was great times,” added Hans Vanderbum, calling up the recollection of them.  “I left de village one hot afternoon, and walked all de way t’rough de woods to get to de cabin to help dem poor folks.  We had mighty hard times.  I catched a cold and couldn’t shtop my dunderin’ nose one night when it wanted to shneeze, and dat’s de way de Shawnee catched me.  Twan’t so bad arter all,” added Hans Vanderbum, musingly, “’cause if it wasn’t for dat I wouldn’t got my Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock.”

“How soon go back?” asked Oonomoo.

“To de village, do you mean?”

“Yeh.”

“Any time afore noon will does, so Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock gits de fish for our dinner.”

“One, two hours,” said the Huron, looking up at the sky, “den sun git dere,” pointing to the zenith.  “Shawnees know here?”

“Know me here?  Guesses not; don’t care if dey does, nor dey doesn’t care neider.”

“Shawnees won’t come here?”

“No, no, Oonomoo, you needn’t be afraid—­”

“Afraid who?” demanded the Huron, with quick fierceness.  “Oonomoo never run afore one—­two—­t’ree—­dozen Shawnees.  He only runs when dey comes like de leaves in de woods.”

“Dey won’t come like de leaves.  If dey does, why you can leave too, and I t’inks you know how to use dem legs dat you’ve got tacked onto you.  I t’inks you run as fast as me.”

“So I t’inks,” replied the Indian, with a grin.

“Dere’s no mistake but dem Shawnees would like to get your scalp, Oonomoo.”

“Two—­t’ree—­hundreds—­all Shawnees like to git Oonomoo’s scalp—­nebber git him—­Oonomee die in his lodge—­scalp on his head,” said the Huron, proudly.

“I hopes so; hopes I will, too.”

The expression of the Indian’s face was changed.  It assumed a dark, earnest appearance.  He was done trifling, and wished to commence business.