“What do you think of these people, Le Noir,” at length asked Mr. Heywood, without, however removing his gaze from his visitors.  “Can they be friendly Pottawattamies?”

“Friendly Pottawattamies! no, sare,” returned the Canadian seriously, and shrugging up his shoulders.  “Dey no dress, no paint like de Pottawattamie, and I not like der black look—­no, sare, dey Winnebago.”

He laid a strong emphasis on the last word, and as he expected, a general “ugh” among the party attested that he had correctly named their tribe.

While they were thus expressing their conjectures in regard to the character and intentions of their guests, and inwardly determining to sell their lives as dearly as possible if attacked.  Ephraim Giles had risen from his seat in the corner of the chimney, and with his eyes fixed on the stick he was whittling, walked coolly out of the door, and sauntered down the pathway leading to the river.  But if he had calculated on the same indifference to his actions that the Indians had manifested towards the boy, he was mistaken.  They all watched him keenly as he slowly sauntered towards the water, and then, when he had got about half way, the chief suddenly springing to his feet, and brandishing his tomahawk demanded in broken, but perfectly intelligible English, where he was going.

“Well, I want to know,” exclaimed the soldier, turning round, and in a tone indicating surprise that he had thus been questioned—­“only goin over thar,” he continued, pointing to the haystacks on the opposite side of the river, around which stood many cattle, “goin I guess to give out some grub to the beasts, and I’ll he back in no time, to give you out some whisky.”  Then, resuming his course, he went on whittling as unconcernedly as before.

The chief turned to his followers, and a low, yet eager conversation ensued.  Whether it was that the seeming indifference of the man, or his promise of the whisky on his return, or that some other motive influenced them, they contented themselves with keeping a vigilant watch upon his movements.

Mr. Heywood and the Frenchman exchanged looks of surprise; they could not account for the action of Ephraim Giles, for although it was his office to cross the river daily for the purpose he had named, it had never been at that period of the day.  How the Indians could suffer his departure, if their intentions were really hostile, it was moreover impossible for them to comprehend; and in proportion as the hopes of the one were raised by this circumstance, so were those of the other depressed.

Mr. Heywood began to think that the suspicions of the Canadian were unfounded, and that their guests were, after all, but a party of warriors on their way to the Fort, either for purposes of traffic with the only merchant residing in its vicinity, or of business with the officer commanding.  It was not likely, he reasoned, that men coming with hostile designs, would have suffered first the boy to be despatched on a mission which, obscurely as he had worded his directions, must in some measure have been understood by the chief; and, secondly, permitted Ephraim Giles to leave the house in the manner just seen—­particularly when the suspicion entertained by him as well as by Le Noir and himself, must have been apparent.