The Indians sitting around
it in their peculiar dress seemed like unreal inhabitants of some
spirit world. Bob's coming to himself in this place and amongst these
people appealed to him as miraculous--supernatural. He could not
understand it at all. He began to plan an escape. When they were all
asleep he could steal quietly out and make his way back to the tilt.
But, then, he reasoned, if they wished to detain him they could easily
track him in the snow in the morning; and, besides, he did not know
where his snow-shoes were and without them he could not go far.
Neither did he know how far he was from the tilt. After the Indians
had found him they may have carried him several days' journey to their
camp and whether they had gone west or north he had no way of finding
out.
It was, therefore, he realized, an unquestionably hopeless undertaking
for him to attempt to reach his tilt alone, and he finally dismissed
the idea as impracticable. Perhaps in the morning he could induce them
to take him there. That, he concluded, was the only plan for him to
follow. So far they had been very kind and he could see no reason why
they should wish to detain him against his will.
The Indians were indeed Nascaupee Indians, but instead of being the
ruthless cut-throats that the Mountaineers and the legends of the
coast had painted them, they were human and hospitable, as all our
eastern Indians were before white men taught them to be thieves and
drove and goaded them--by the white man's own treachery--to acts of
reprisal and revenge.
Pages:
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120