Working his way cautiously backward, he reached the land and started apparently to return to his wigwam.  As he did so, he looked at the Shawnees and was gratified to see that their suspicions had not been aroused by his movements.  Proceeding some distance, he hid his fish and line and made his way up the river, escaping the Shawnees by means of a long detour.

Reaching the stream and tree, he was somewhat taken aback by not finding any one at all.  Considerably perplexed, he looked about him.

“Can’t be dat Quanonshet and Madokawandock have been fooling deir poor old fader again,” said he.  “I’m purty sure I seen some one on the tree, when dem pieces of bark come swimming downstream.”

A subdued whistle reached his ear.  Looking behind him, he saw a Huron Indian standing a few yards away.  The eyes of both lit up as they encountered the gaze of each other, for they were both friends and old acquaintances.

“Ish dat you, Oonomoo?” inquired Hans Vanderbum.

“Yeh—­me—­Oonomoo,” replied the Indian, pronouncing his name somewhat differently from the Dutchman, (and from that by which we have before referred to him).

“Was dat you on de tree out dere?”

“Yeh, me—­Oonomoo out dere on log.”

“And did you make dem pieces of bark to come swimming down by me?”

“Yeh, me made ’em.”

“And shtirred de water wid yer hand and moved de limb?”

“Yeh, Oonomoo do all dat.”

“I shpose you wanted to see me?”

“Yeh, wanted to see you—­want talk wid you,” said the Huron, motioning for Hans to follow him.  The latter did not hesitate to do so, as he had perfect faith in his honesty, knowing much of his history.  The savage led the way some distance into the woods, where they were not likely to be seen or overheard, and then stopped and confronted his companion.

“Where’d you come from, Oonomoo?” asked the latter.

“From fightin’ de Shawnees,” replied the savage, proudly.

“Yaw, I sees yer am in de war-paint.  Did you get many?”

“The lodge of Oonomoo is full of the scalps of the cowardly Shawnees, taken many moons ago,” answered the Huron, his eyes flashing fire and his breast heaving at the remembrance of his exploits.  This reply was made in the Shawnee language, as he spoke it as well as one of their warriors; and, as Hans also understood it, the conversation was now carried on in that tongue.

“When did you see Annie Stanton last?” inquired the Dutchman, showing considerable interest.

“Several moons ago, when the sun was in the woods and the waters were asleep.”

“Is her husband, that rascally Ferrington, living?”

Oonomoo replied that he was.

“And is their baby, too?”

“Yes, they have two pappooses.”

“Dunder and blixen!” exclaimed Hans Vanderbum, and then resuming the English language, or rather his version of it, he added: