"May-be so," continued Ephraim Giles, "but these varmint
didn't look over friendly, and then I guess the
Pottawattamies don't dress in war paint, 'cept when they
dance for liquor."

"And are you quite sure these Indians were in their war
paint?" asked his master, with an ill-concealed look of
anxiety.

"No mistake about it," replied Giles, still whittling,
"and I could almost swear, short as the squint was I got
of 'em, that they were part of those who fought us on
the Wabash, two years ago."

"How so, den, you are here, Gile. If dey wicked Injin,
how you keep your funny little cap, an' your scalp under
de cap?"

This question was asked by the Canadian, who had hitherto,
while puffing his pipe, listened indifferently to the
conversation, but whose attention had now become arrested,
from the moment that his fellow-laborer had spoken of
the savages, so strangely disturbed by him.

"Well, I don't exactly know about that, myself," returned
the soldier, slightly raising his cap and scratching his
crown, as if in recollection of some narrowly escaped
danger. "I reckon, tho', when I see them slope up like
a covey of red-legged pattridges, my heart was in my