“You liked to got rubbed out that time!” he exclaimed, replacing his weapon. “What made you forgit the sign?” “It must have been because it did not occur to me,” I laughed; “I have had no occasion to use it before, and forgot it altogether; but I will remember it, you may be assured, in future.” “You’d better, for I was just going to shoot, too,” added Nat, rising to his feet, and then seating himself again. “You shoot!” repeated Biddon, contemptuously, “You’re shooter ain’t loaded!” “I forgot that. I wonder if I couldn’t load it, say?” he indignantly demanded. “Yes, in course, if the reds waited fur yer.” Nat made no reply to this, except that of instantly proceeding to load his piece. As it was near noon, the meal was prepared--this time from the beaver’s body. The hair was singed off from a piece, which was then cooked in the usual manner. This, although very palatable, was not equal to the tail of the animal, the meat being more tough and oily. Shortly after, the trapper departed for the purpose of visiting his traps, and setting new ones. When alone with Nat, I determined to impart to him my morning’s experience. “Nat, I have seen Indians,” I remarked, in a quiet tone. “You hain’t!” he exclaimed, starting up from his bed of skins with such suddenness as to break the remains of his pipe. “I have; and, what is considerably more, they have seen me.” “I should think it was considerably more, umph! What did you do to them? I didn’t hear you shoot. Why didn’t you tell me before? Why didn’t you--why, it seems to me you’re very cool about it.” “There is no occasion for excitement at all. Just remain quiet, and I will tell you how it all happened.” And thereupon I related the particulars of the incident already known to the reader. Nat’s wonder, excitement, and apprehension were roused to the highest pitch at the narration. Springing to his feet, he pulled his flattened hat violently over his forehead, and striding about a moment, demanded: “Why didn’t you tell Bill? Like as not he’ll be shot and scalped before he gets back.” “I did not think it best,” I returned. “Biddon is not the man to walk into danger with his eyes shut, and if there is any cause for fear, he will discover it soon enough.” “Suppose he will; but ain’t it terrible?” “Isn’t what terrible?” “Why, that we’re surrounded by Injins, thirsting for our blood!” “We are not surrounded by Indians, Nat,” I returned, reprovingly. “I know; but then they are all around us. It won’t do to stick our heads out, except at night, and then, like as not, we’ll be shot for our trouble.” “You are not afraid, I hope.” “Oh, no! not a bit; but then you know it’s rather _unpleasant_ to feel that those infarnal Blackfeet (because this is the country of the Blackfeet Injins) are all about you, and waiting for a chance to shoot you from behind every bush.”