The red men were sauntering lazily, and several bore heavy backloads of game, while others were singing and cutting antics like merry men after a successful chase. Not a little alarmed, but guessing that it would be useless--nay, most dangerous--to run before so many weapons and dogs, Congo retreated into the cabin. “Is dem your folks?” he asked, holding the skin curtain aside that the old man might see out. “Ess. My young man. Me great chief.” “Yes, sah--dat you is! You next to de President ob United States! You good man, too! You no let ’em hurty me, eh?” Joe shook hands with the chief and smote his breast and made all manner of pacific demonstrations while he said this. “No un’stand.” “Oh--debble you don’t! You grow dumb jes’ w’en it suits you, I t’ink. And dey looks like mighty ugly customers.” So saying, he tumbled the dead deer back into the hole and drew the pile of skins over it, fearing that he might otherwise be suspected of being a robber, and be slain before any explanations could be made. Partly by urging, and partly by force, he induced the “wise chief” to resume his seat, and then again tried to make him understand that he wanted his protection from the coming warriors. “Do dey speak English?” he asked anxiously. “Ess--Running Water, he spokes ’em--great much.” “Running Water, eh? Dat’s cur’ous name. Is he a chief?” “Young chief. Me older. Wise man.” “I see. You’ve been laid on de shelf a good w’ile, and ain’t of near as much consequence as you makes yourself out. Is Running Water a good man?” “Ess--good! Got much scalps!” “Golly! I hope he’s got enough! Dare dey come now close by; I hear ’em. I wish I wus back on de boat or anywhere else but here.” Peeping out, he saw that the hunters had been joined by a rabble of squaws and children, who had rushed out of their hiding places in the woods to meet them, and that the whole party, babbling loudly, were within a few rods of the lodges. “Now for it!” said Joe, with great trepidation. “Stand by me, old gemmen, or I’m a goner. ‘Now I lay me down to sleep.’ Oh, Jiminy! what a fool I was to come here and git in sich a scrape as dis! Dey look fierce as wild wolves and dem old squaws are tellin’ ’em all manner of lies about me. I know dat dey are. Dey’ll sartain make mincemeat of me jes’ as soon as dey find me.” The red men were certainly in considerable excitement. Some had stopped and were looking earnestly at the distant party of whites who had been pointed out to them by the women, and others were advancing warily toward the wigwam of the old chief, for vigilant eyes from the brakes and bushes in the wood had watched the negro’s arrival in the village. His entrance into the several lodges, and the fact that he had not departed from that one, were both well known to them. CHAPTER XXXII. IMPRESSING SAVAGES.