wigwam.

"Going to shmoke and _meditate_--meditate _hard_," replied Hans
Vanderbum, impressively.

"Can't you think as well while you're _fishing_?"

"I shpose I can; if my Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock t'inks so, I can."

"Well, she thinks so."

The fact that his wife "thought so" was equivalent to a command with
Hans. He manifested no unwillingness or reluctance in obeying.
Accordingly, he furnished himself with a hook, line and bait, and set
out for the river.

It was now getting well along in the forenoon, the sun being above the
tree-tops. The Shawnee Indians had left their wigwams to engage in
their daily avocations. The women were mostly toiling in the field,
their pappooses hanging from the trees or leaning against their trunks.
The older children were frolicking through the woods, or fishing or
hunting. A few warriors and old men still lounged about the wigwams,
but the majority either were engaged in the hunt, or were upon the
war-trail.

Stolid and indifferent as was the nature of Hans, it struck him that
there was something unusual in the appearance and actions of the
Indians. It seemed as though some startling event had occurred from
which they had not fully recovered. They were uneasy and restless in
their movements, constantly passing to and from the river. Upon