“You ain’t agoin’ to leab me here, be you?”

“Know de way to settlement?” asked the Huron.

“No, no; I (recollecting what he had told the Lieutenant) did know de way once, but, I’s afraid I’ve forgot it.  My mem’ry is gittin’ poor.”

“You find de way—­must go—­can’t stay wid us.”

“Oh, gorry! don’t leab me among de Injines; dey will eat me up alive!” replied the negro, bellowing like a bull.

Canfield saw the glitter of the Huron’s eyes, and taking Cato by the arm, said: 

“Let us hear no more of this, Cato, or you will arouse the anger of Oonomoo, and there is no telling what he may do.”

“But, I’s afraid to go t’rough de dark woods, dat am full of de Shawnees,” said the negro, in pitiful accents.

“It will be no more dangerous than to go with us.  We shall probably find ourselves right among them before long; while, if you are cautious, there is little probability of your encountering them.  Go, Cato, and tell Mrs. Prescott and Helen what has happened, but do not exaggerate it.  Tell them, for me, that they can hope for the best, and that they shall soon hear from Oonomoo and myself.”

The words of the Lieutenant had the desired effect upon the negro.  When he saw that he had but a choice between two dangers, he prudently took that which seemed to be the least, replying that, “all t’ings ’sidered, ’twould be ’bout as well to tote off to de settlement, and guv de news to de folks dar.”  He added that he was not influenced by “pussonal fear, but was simply actin’ on de advice ob de Leftenant.”

Accordingly, Cato took his departure.  Our two friends watched him as he shuffled across the clearing, and finally disappeared in the shadowy wood beyond.

Then the Huron turned to the duty before him.  Taking a northerly direction, he proceeded at such a rapid walk that the young soldier was compelled every now and then to run a few steps to maintain his place beside him.  He kept up his pace for a half-hour or so, when he suddenly halted.

“Fast walk—­make breathe fast,” said he, his black eye sparkling.

“It is rather rapid walking, Oonomoo, but I can stand it.  Don’t stop on my account.”

“Plenty time—­git dar mornin’—­soon enough.”

“How far are we from the Shawnee village?”

“Two—­eight—­dozen miles—­go in canoe part way.”

“When will we rescue her from the dogs—­the Shawnees?” asked the young Lieutenant, scarcely able to restrain his curiosity.

“Dunno—­may be can’t get her ’t all.”

“Won’t get her?” he repeated, his heart throbbing painfully.  “My God, Oonomoo, why do you say that?”

“’Cause true—­hain’t got her yit—­may be won’t—­Shawnee watch close—­t’ink Oonomoo ’bout.”

“But you expect to rescue her, do you not?”

“Yeh, ’spect to—­do all can—­ain’t sartin—­mustn’t t’ink I am—­be ready for her dead.”