So I supposed that Boyd would obey these orders to the letter.
When the mounted party had moved away, Boyd and I went back to the fire and lay down on our blankets.

We were on the edge of the trees; it was still daylight; the pioneers were still at work; and my Indians were freshening their paint, rebraiding their scalp-locks, and shining up hatchet, rifle, and knife.
"Look at those bloodhounds," muttered Boyd.

"They did not hear what we were talking about, but they know by premonition." "I do not have any faith in premonitions," said I.
"Why ?" "I have dreamed I was scalped, and my hair still grows." "You are not out of the woods yet," he said, sombrely.
"That does not worry me." "Nor me.

Yet, I do believe in premonition." "That is old wives' babble." "Maybe, Loskiel.

Yet, I know I shall not leave this wilderness alive." "Lord!" said I, attempting to jest.