has some message, or news."

"How old is the man, captain? Does an Indian never break down?"

"Nick must be fairly fifty, now. I have known him more than half that
period, and he was an experienced, and, to own the truth, a brave and
skilful warrior, when we first met. I rate him fifty, every day of it."

By this time the new-comer was so near, that the conversation ceased,
all standing gazing at him, as he drew near, and Maud gathering up her
hair, with maiden bashfulness, though certainly Nick was no stranger.
As for Little Smash, she waddled off to proclaim the news to the
younger Pliny, Mari, and Great Smash, all of whom were still in the
kitchen of the Hut, flourishing, sleek and glistening.

Soon after, Nick arrived. He came up the Knoll on his loping trot,
never stopping until he was within five or six yards of the Captain,
when he suddenly halted, folded his arms, and stood in a composed
attitude, lest he should betray a womanish desire to tell his story. He
did not even pant but appeared as composed and unmoved, as if he had
walked the half-mile he had been seen to pass over on a trot.

"Sago--Sago," cried the captain, heartily--"you are welcome back, Nick;
I am glad to see you still so active."

"Sago"--answered the guttural voice of the Indian, who quietly nodded
his head.

"What will you have to refresh you, after such a journey, Nick--our
trees give us good cider, now."