“Get up, get up, Cato, and don’t make a fool of yourself,” said the Lieutenant, recognizing in the frightened negro the favorite servant of Captain Prescott’s family.

“Oh, please don’t hurt me!  Please don’t kill poor Cato!  He never hurt good Injine in all his life!  Please, good, nice Mr. Injine, let me go, and I’ll do anyt’ing you wants me to, and lubs you as long as I lib.  Please, don’t hurt poor nigger Cato,” repeated the servant, fairly beside himself with terror.

“If you don’t want to be killed, get up,” said the young officer, sternly enough to bring Cato to his senses; but only after he had been assisted by what he supposed to be a ferocious Indian, ready to brain him, was he enabled to rise and to keep his feet.

[Illustration:  “If you don’t want to be killed, get up,” said the young officer.]

“Don’t you know me, Cato?” asked the Lieutenant, laughing heartily at the woe-begone appearance of the negro.

“Hebens, golly! ain’t you an Injine, Massa Canfield?” he asked, his knees still shaking with terror.

“Do I look like one?”

“Guess you isn’t, arter all,” added the negro, with more assurance.  “Hebens, golly! I ain’t afeard!” he suddenly exclaimed, straightening up proudly.  “Didn’t t’ink Cato was afeard, Massa Canfield?”

“I must say that the circumstantial evidence of your cowardice is hard to resist.”

The negro’s eyes enlarged as he heard the large words of the soldier, and his looks showed that he had no idea of their meaning.

“Doesn’t t’ink I’s afeard?”

“Why did you build such a looking concern as that?”

“Why I build dat?  To keep de rain off of me.”

“It hasn’t rained at all for several days.”

“Know dat, but, den, expect maybe ‘twill.  Bes’ to be ready for it when does come.”

“But, as there were no evidences of a storm coming very soon, why should you get in there just now?”

“Storms out in dese parts bust berry suddent sometimes.  Oughter know dat, Massa Canfield.”

“Yes, I do; but, why in the name of common sense did you set up such a growling when I came near your old cabin?”

“Did I growl at you?”

“Yes:  made as much noise as a grizzly bear could have done.”

“Done it jist for fun, Massa.  Hebens, golly! wanted to see if you was afeard, too.”

“But,” said the soldier, assuming a more serious air, “let the jesting cease.  When did you put those logs together, Cato?”

“Dis morning, arter dey went away,” he replied, with a shudder, casting a look of terror around him.

“And when did they—­the Shawnees—­go away?”

“Didn’t stay long, Massa; come in de night, berry late—­bust on de house all at once.”

Lieutenant Canfield felt a painful interest in all that related to Mary Prescott.  Although the Huron had given him the principal incidents of the attack and massacre, he could not restrain himself from questioning the negro still further.