"At all events, I have a right to insist on knowing, first, by what means you entered the palisades; and, second, what business has brought you here, at night, and so suddenly."

"Ask Nick, cap'in, all he right to ask; but, don't touch ole flog. How I cross palisade? Where your sentinel to stop Injin? One at gate; well, none all round, t'other place. Get in, up here, down dere, over yonder.

Ten, twenty, t'ree spot--s'pose him tree? climb him. S'pose him palisade?--climb him, too. What help?--Soldier out at gate when Nick get over t'other end! Come in court, too, when he want. Half gate half no gate. So easy, 'shamed to brag of. Cap'in once Nick's friend--went on same war-path--dat in ole time. Both warrior; both went ag'in French garrison. Well; who crept in, close by cannon, open gate, let pale-men in. Great Tuscarora do _dat_; no flog, _den_--no talk of ole sore, dat night!"

"This is all true enough, Wyandotte"--This was Nick's loftiest appellation; and a grim, but faint smile crossed his visage, as he heard it, again, in the mouth of one who had known him when its sound carried terror to the hearts of his enemies--"This is all true, Wyandotte, and I have even given you credit for it. On that occasion you were bold as the lion, and as cunning as a fox--you were much honoured for that exploit."

"No ole sore in _dat_, um?" cried Nick, in a way so startling as to sicken Mrs. Willoughby to the heart. "No call Nick dog, dat night.

He _all_ warrior, den--all face; no _back_."

"I have said you were honoured for your conduct, Nick, and paid for it.

Now, let me know what has brought you here to-night, and whence you come."

There was another pause. Gradually, the countenance of the Indian became less and less fierce, until it lost its expression of malignant resentment in one in which human emotions of a kinder nature predominated.

"Squaw good," he said, even gently, waving his hand towards Mrs.

Willoughby--"Got son; love him like little baby. Nick come six, two time before, runner from her son."

"My son, Wyandotte!" exclaimed the mother--"Bring you any tidings, now, from my boy?"

"No bring tidin'--too heavy; Indian don't love to carry load--bring _letter_"

The cry from the three females was now common, each holding out her hand, with an involuntary impulse, to receive the note. Nick drew the missive from a fold of his garment, and placed it in the hand of Mrs.

Willoughby, with a quiet grace that a courtier might have wished to equal, in vain.

The note was short, and had been written in pencil, on a leaf torn from some book of coa.r.s.e paper. The handwriting however, was at once recognised as Robert Willoughby's though there was no address, nor any signature. The paper merely contained the following--

"Trust to your defences, and to nothing else. This party has many white men in it, disguised as Indians. I am suspected, if not known. You will be tampered with, but the wisest course is to be firm. If Nick is honest, he can tell you more; if false, this note will be shown, even though it be delivered. Secure the inner gates, and depend more on the house itself, than on the palisades. Fear nothing for me--my life can be in no danger."

This note was read by each, in succession, Maud turning aside to conceal the tears that fell fast on the paper, as she perused it. She read it last, and was enabled to retain it; and precious to her heart was the boon, at such a moment, when nearly every sensation of her being centred in intense feeling in behalf of the captive.

"We are told to inquire the particulars of you, Nick," observed the captain; "I hope you will tell us nothing but truth. A lie is so unworthy a warrior's mouth!"

"Nick didn't lie 'bout beaver dam! Cap'in no find him good, as Indian say?"

"In that you dealt honestly, and I give you credit for it. Has any one seen this letter but ourselves, yourself, and the person who wrote it?"

"What for ask? If Nick say no, cap'in t'ink he lie. Even fox tell trut'

some time; why not Injin? Nick say no."

"Where did you leave my son, and when?--Where is the party of red-skins at this moment?"

"All pale-face in hurry! Ask ten, one, four question, altogeder. Well; answer him so. Down here, at mill; down dere, at mill; half an hour, six, two, ten o'clock."

"I understand you to say that major Willoughby was at the mill when you saw him last, and that this was only half an hour since?"

The Tuscarora nodded his head in a.s.sent, but made no other reply. Even as he did this, his keen eyes rolled over the pallid faces of the females in a way to awaken the captain's distrust, and he resumed his questions in a tone that partook more of the military severity of his ancient habits than of the gentler manner he had been accustomed to use of late years.

"You know me, Nick," he said sternly, "and ought to dread my displeasure."

"What cap'in mean, now?" demanded the Indian, quietly.

"That the same whip is in this fort that I always kept in the other, in which you knew me to dwell; nor have I forgotten how to use it."

The Tuscarora gazed at the captain with a very puzzling expression, though, in the main, his countenance appeared to be ironical rather than fierce.

"What for, talk of whip, now?" he said. "Even Yengeese gen'ral hide whip, when he see enemy. Soldier can't fight when back sore. When battle near, den all good friend; when battle over, den flog, flog, flog. Why talk so?--Cap'in nebber strike _Wyandotte_."

"Your memory must be short, to say this! I thought an Indian kept a better record of what pa.s.sed."

"No man _dare_ strike Wyandotte!" exclaimed the Indian, with energy. "No man--pale-face or red-skin, _can_ give blow on back of Wyandotte, and see sun set!"

"Well--well--Nick; we will not dispute on this point, but let bye-gones be bye-gones. What _has_ happened, _has_ happened, and I hope will never occur again."

"Dat happen to Nick--Sa.s.sy Nick--poor, drunken Nick--to Wyandotte, nebber!"

"I believe I begin to understand you, now, Tuscarora, and am glad I have a chief and a warrior in my house, instead of a poor miserable outcast. Shall I have the pleasure of filling you a gla.s.s in honour of our old campaigns?"

"Nick alway dry--Wyandotte know no thirst. Nick, beggar--ask for rum--_pray_ for rum--_t'ink_ of rum, _talk_ of rum, _laugh_ for rum, _cry_ for rum. Wyandotte don't know rum, when he see him. Wyandotte beg not'in'; no, not his scalp."

"All this sounds well, and I am both willing and glad, chief, to receive you in the character in which you give me to understand you have now come. A warrior of Wyandotte's high name is too proud to carry a forked tongue in his mouth, and I shall hear nothing but truth. Tell me, then, all you know about this party at the mill; what has brought it here, how you came to meet my son, and what will be the next step of his captors. Answer the questions in the order in which I put them."

"Wyandotte not newspaper to tell ebbery t'ing at once. Let cap'in talk like one chief speaking to anoder."

"Then, tell me first, what you know of this party at the mill. Are there many pale-faces in it?"

"Put 'em in the river," answered the Indian, sententiously; "water tell the trut'."

"You think that there are many among them that would wash white?"

"Wyandotte _know_ so. When did red warriors ever travel on their path like hogs in drove? _One_ red-man there, as Great Spirit make him; by his side _two_ red-men as _paint_ make 'em. This soon told on trail."

"You struck their trail, then, and joined their company, in that manner?"

Another nod indicated the a.s.sent of the Indian. Perceiving that the Tuscarora did not intend to speak, the captain continued his interrogatories.

"And how did the trail betray this secret, chief?" he asked.

"Toe turn out--step too short--trail too broad--trail too plain--march too short."

"You must have followed them some distance, Wyandotte, to learn all this?"

"Follow from Mohawk--join 'em at mill. Tuscarora don't like too much travel with Mohawk."

"But, according to your account, there cannot be a great many red-skins in the party, if the white men so much out-number them."

Nick, now, raised his right hand, showing all the fingers and the thumb, at each exhibition, four several times. Then he raised it once, showing only the fore-finger and thumb.

"This makes twenty-two, Nick--Do you include yourself in the number?"