"Monkey-face is a poor Indian; his brothers have rejected him on account of his friendship with the Palefaces. He hoped to find among the Long-knives of the west, in the absence of friendship, grat.i.tude for service rendered. He is mistaken."

"That is not the question," the Captain continued impatiently; "will you answer Yes or No?"

The Indian drew himself in, and walked up to the speaker close enough to touch him.

"And if I refuse?" he said, as he gave him a glance of defiance and fury.

"If you refuse, scoundrel! I forbid you ever appearing again before me; and if you disobey me, I will chastise you with my dog-whip!"

The Captain had hardly uttered these insulting words ere he repented of them. He was alone, and unarmed, with a man whom he had mortally insulted; hence he tried to arrange matters.

"But Monkey-face," he went on, "is a chief; he is wise; he will answer me--for he knows that I love him."

"You lie, dog of the Palefaces!" the Indian yelled, as he ground his teeth in fury; "you hate me almost as much as I hate you!"

The Captain, in his exasperation, raised the switch he carried in his hand; but, at the same moment, the Indian, with a panther-leap, bounded on to his horse's croup, dragged the Captain out of his stirrups, and rudely hurled him to the ground.

"The Palefaces are cowardly old women," he said; "the p.a.w.nee warriors despise them, and will send them petticoats."

After uttering these words with a sarcastic accent impossible to describe, the Indian bent over the horse's neck, let loose the rein, uttered a fierce yell, and started at full speed, not troubling himself further about the Captain, whom he left severely bruised by his fall.

James Watt was not the man to endure such treatment without trying to revenge himself; he got up as quickly as he could, and shouted, in order to get together the hunters and wood-cutters scattered over the plain.

Some of them had seen what had happened, and started at full speed to help their Captain; but before they reached him, and he could give them his orders to pursue the fugitive, the latter had disappeared in the heart of the forest, toward which he had directed his rapid course.

The hunters, however, at the head of them being Sergeant Bothrel, rushed in pursuit of the Indian, swearing they would bring him in either dead or alive.

The Captain looked after them till he saw them disappear one after the other in the forest, and then returned slowly to the colony, reflecting on what had taken place between himself and the Redskin, and his heart contracted by a gloomy presentiment.

Something whispered to him that, for Monkey-face, generally so prudent and circ.u.mspect, to have acted as he had done, he must have fancied himself very strong, and quite certain of impunity.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE DECLARATION OF WAR.

There is an incomprehensible fact, which we were many times in a position to appreciate, during the adventurous course of our lengthened wanderings in America--that a man will at times feel the approach of a misfortune, though unable to account for the feeling he suffers from; he knows that he is menaced, though unable to tell when the peril will come, or in what way it will arrive; the day seems to grow more gloomy, the sunbeams lose their brilliancy, external objects a.s.sume a mournful appearance; there are strange murmurs in the air; all, in a word, seems to feel the impression of a vague and undefined restlessness.

Though nothing occurred to justify the Captain's fears after his altercation with the p.a.w.nee, not only he, but the whole population of the colony felt under the weight of dull terror on the evening of this day.

At six o'clock, as usual, the bell was rung to recall the wood-cutters and herds; all had returned, the beasts were shut up in their respective stalls, and, apparently, at any rate nothing out of the common troubled the calm existence of the colonists.

Sergeant Bothrel and his comrades, who had pursued Monkey-face for several hours, had only found the horse the Indian so audaciously carried off, and which he probably abandoned, in order to hide his trail more effectually.

Although no Indian sign was visible in the vicinity of the colony, the Captain, more anxious than he wished to appear, had doubled the sentries intended to watch over the common safety, and ordered the Sergeant to patrol round the entrenchments every two hours.

When all these precautions had been taken, the family and servants a.s.sembled on the ground floor of the tower to spend the evening, as had been their wont ever since the beginning of the settlement.

The Captain, sitting in an easy chair by the fire, for the nights were beginning to become fresh, was reading an old work on Military Tactics, while Mrs. Watt, with the servants, was engaged in mending the household linen.

This evening, however, the Captain, instead of reading, seemed to be thinking profoundly, with his arms crossed on his chest, and his eyes fixed on the fire.

At last he raised his head, and turned to his wife--

"Do you not hear the children crying?" he said.

"I really do not know what is the matter with them to-day," she answered, "for we cannot quiet them; Betsy has been with them for more than an hour, and has not been able to get them to sleep."

"You should go yourself, my dear, that would be more proper than leaving these things to the care of a servant."

Mrs. Watt went out without answering, and her voice could soon be heard on the upper floor, where was the children's room.

"So, Sergeant," the Captain went on, addressing the old soldier, who was busy in a corner mending a yoke, "you found it impossible to catch up that accursed heathen, who threw me so roughly this morning?"

"We could not even see him, Captain," the Sergeant replied: "these Indians are like lizards, they slip through anywhere. Luckily I found Boston again; the poor brute seemed delighted at seeing me again."

"Yes, yes. Boston is a n.o.ble brute, I should have been vexed to lose him. The heathen has not wounded him, I hope, for you know that these demons are accustomed to treat horses badly."

"There is nothing the matter with him as far as I can see; the Indian was probably compelled to leap off his back in a hurry upon finding us so close at his heels."

"It must be so, Sergeant. Have you examined the neighbourhood carefully?"

"With the greatest attention, Captain, but I noticed nothing suspicious.

The Redskins will look twice before attacking us: we gave them too rude a shaking for them to forget it."

"I am not of your opinion, Sergeant; the pagans are vindictive; I am convinced that they would like to avenge themselves on us, and that some day, before long perhaps, we shall hear them utter their war-yell in the valley."

"I do not desire it, it is true; but I believe, if they attempted it, they would sing small."

"I think so too; but they would give us a sorrowful surprise, especially now that, through our labours and our care, we are on the point of receiving the price of our fatigues, and beginning to see the end of our troubles."

"That is true, it would be vexatious, for the losses an attack from these bandits would entail on us are incalculable."

"Unluckily, we can only keep on our guard, and it will be impossible for us to foil the plans which these Red demons are doubtless ruminating against us. Have you placed the sentinels as I recommended, Sergeant?"

"Yes, Captain, and I ordered them to display the utmost watchfulness; I do not believe that the p.a.w.nees can surprise us, however clever they may be."

"We cannot take our oath of anything, Sergeant," the Captain answered, as he shook his head with a doubtful air.

At this moment, and as if accident wished to confirm his views, the bell hung outside, and which was used to tell the colonists someone desired to come in, was rung violently.

"What does that mean?" the Captain exclaimed, as he looked at a clock on the wall in front of him; "it is nearly eight o'clock, who can come so late? Have not all our men returned?"

"All, Captain, there is no one outside the palisades." James Watt rose, seized his rifle, and making the Sergeant a sign to follow him, prepared to go out.