much tree."

"But Indians must be there; perhaps some old mess-mates of your
own, Master Arrowhead."

"No Tuscarora -- no Oneida -- no Mohawk -- pale-face fire."

"The devil it is? Well, Magnet, this surpasses a seaman's philosophy:
we old sea-dogs can tell a lubber's nest from a mate's hammock; but
I do not think the oldest admiral in his Majesty's fleet can tell
a king's smoke from a collier's."

The idea that human beings were in their vicinity, in that ocean
of wilderness, had deepened the flush on the blooming cheek and
brightened the eye of the fair creature at his side; but she soon
turned with a look of surprise to her relative, and said hesitatingly,
for both had often admired the Tuscarora's knowledge, or, we might
almost say, instinct, --

"A pale-face's fire! Surely, uncle, he cannot know _that_?"

"Ten days since, child, I would have sworn to it; but now I hardly
know what to believe. May I take the liberty of asking, Arrowhead,
why you fancy that smoke, now, a pale-face's smoke, and not a
red-skin's?"

"Wet wood," returned the warrior, with the calmness with which
the pedagogue might point out an arithmetical demonstration to his
puzzled pupil. "Much wet -- much smoke; much water -- black smoke."