"All kinds of savages repel me." Braxton Wyatt shrugged his shoulders again.
"One must do the best he can," he said briefly.
The leisurely march proceeded, and they camped the next afternoon in the midst of a magnificent forest of beech, oak, and hickory, building a great fire, and lounging about it in apparently careless fashion.

But Paul was enough of a woodsman to know that some of the warriors were on watch, and he and Braxton, as usual, were compelled to sit in the center of the group, where there was no shadow of a chance to escape.
Hunters whom they had sent out presently brought in the bodies of two deer, and then they had a great feast.

The venison was half cooked in strips and chunks over the coals, and the warriors ate it voraciously, chattering to each other, meanwhile, as Paul did not know that Indians ever talked.
"What are they saying, Braxton ?" he asked.
"I can't catch it very well," replied Wyatt, "but I think they are talking about a stay near the Ohio--for hunting, I suppose.

That ought to be a good thing for us, because they certainly will not decide about our fate until we get back to their village, and the more they are used to us the less likely they are to put us to death." Paul watched the warriors eating, and they were more repellent to him than ever.

Savages they were, and nothing could make them anything else.