It was rapidly growing dark; a fine, drizzling rain had set in, and
a rising wind gave promise of a stormy night.
Although the hunter seemed familiar with his surroundings, he moved
cautiously, and hesitated as if debating whether he should seek the
protection of this lonely hut, or remain all night under dripping
trees. Feeling of his hunting frock, he found that it was damp and
slippery. This fact evidently decided him in favor of the cabin, for
he stooped his tall figure and went in. It was pitch dark inside;
but having been there before, the absence of a light did not trouble
him. He readily found the ladder leading to the loft, ascended it,
and lay down to sleep.
During the night a noise awakened him. For a moment he heard nothing
except the fall of the rain. Then came the hum of voices, followed
by the soft tread of moccasined feet. He knew there was an Indian
town ten miles across the country, and believed some warriors,
belated on a hunting trip, had sought the cabin for shelter.
The hunter lay perfectly quiet, awaiting developments. If the
Indians had flint and steel, and struck a light, he was almost
certain to be discovered. He listened to their low conversation, and
understood from the language that they were Delawares.
A moment later he heard the rustling of leaves and twigs,
accompanied by the metallic click of steel against some hard
substance.
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