At the edge of the wood and not a dozen yards from the nearest wigwam, he stopped. After peering carefully around in all directions he called out: “Is any of the gemmen or ladies to hum?” Receiving no answer to this polite inquiry, he advanced near enough to one of the huts to look through an opening which served for a window and to obtain a view of the interior. A glance showed him that no one was within, and he ventured to push aside the door or curtain of skin which hung before the entrance and walk in. The building, if such it may be called, was conical or tentlike in shape, entirely made of saplings, and boughs, and bushes carelessly intertwined, and partly covered with skins. A bed of the same material was in one corner of the lodge, on the bare earth, and a large log, hewn smooth on one side, served the purpose of a bench or settee. A few cooking utensils of stone and iron completed the furniture, but that there was nothing edible in the room the hungry negro quickly ascertained. He went out and entered another wigwam, with a similar result; but here everything bore the marks of a hasty evacuation. A fire was burning outside the hut, within a little circular wall of stones: an iron kettle and a large gourd of water stood beside it, and near the door a few ears of dried corn had been dropped, evidently in the haste of departure. These Joe pocketed, and then he continued his explorations, gaining courage as he proceeded, and scarcely fearing any longer that he should encounter a foe. “Dey’re all run away,” he said, “and took dere victuals with ’em. Let’s try dis ’ere next one.” To his surprise the next lodge which he entered had an inmate--a very old and decrepit Indian, who seemed neither able to work nor to stand, and whom his alarmed companions had evidently abandoned to his fate. He was tall and gaunt, was dressed in a sort of tunic of dirty deerskin, with bead-embroidered leggings and moccasins of the same material; had heavy gold rings in his ears, a wampum belt about his waist, and an eagle feather fastened in his scalp lock. He was seated on a pile of skins, chanting in a low voice, and he had probably decorated himself for the “happy dispatch” which he anticipated receiving at the hand of his visitor. “Good mornin’, sah--sarvant, sah!” said Congo, bowing and scraping, as he caught sight of this strange individual. “Hope you’re quite well!” The Indian bent his head a little lower, as if for the expected blow, and continued to sing. “Neber mind de music now,” said the negro; “I’se in a hurry. Where’s all your folks?” The old warrior looked up, and, seeing that his visitor was unarmed and was making pacific demonstrations, he gazed at and listened to him for some seconds in silence and amazement. “Do you talky Englishy?” continued Joe, who seemed to think he would make himself more easily understood by this mode of speech.