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Hardscrabble; or, the fall of Chicago. a tale of Indian warfare by John Richardson
page 14 of 239 (05%)
excite the suspicions of his unwelcome guests, while it
was possible that, as they did not understand English,
(so at least he took it for granted) a communication made
to him boldly in their presence, would be construed into
some domestic order.

"Wilton," he said calmly to the boy, who stood near the
doorway with alarm visibly depicted on his countenance,
and looking as if he would eagerly seize a favorable
opportunity of escape, "make all haste to the fishing
party, and tell Corporal Nixon who commands it, to lose
no time in pulling down the stream. You will come back
with them. Quick, lose not a moment."

Delighted at the order, the boy made no answer, but
hatless--shoeless as he was, disappeared round the corner
of the house. Strange to say, the Indians, although they
had seemingly listened with attention to Mr. Heywood
while issuing these directions, did not make the slightest
movement to arrest the departure of the boy, or even to
remark upon it--merely turning to their chief, who uttered
a sharp and satisfied "ugh."

During all this time, Mr. Heywood and Le Noir stood at
some little distance from the Indians, and nearly on the
spot they had occupied at their entrance, the one holding
his rifle, the other his duck-gun, the butts of both,
resting on the floor. At each moment their anxiety
increased, and it seemed an age before the succor they
had sent for could arrive. How long, moreover, would
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