He crept a little closer, and then a little closer still. Lying
almost flat on the steep path, and drawing himself forward, he
looked into "The Alcove." A fire of deep, red coals glowed in one
corner, and disposed about it were the four. Paul lay on his
elbow on a deerskin, and was gazing into the coals. Tom Ross was
working on a pair of moccasins, Long Jim was making some kind of
kitchen implement, and Shif'less Sol was talking. Henry could
hear the words distinctly, and they were about himself.
"Henry will turn up all right," he was saying. "Hasn't he always
done it afore? Then ef he's always done it afore he's shorely
not goin' to break his rule now. I tell you, boys, thar ain't
enough Injuns an' Tories between Canady an' New Orleans, an' the
Mississippi an' the Atlantic, to ketch Henry. I bet I could
guess what he's doin' right at this moment."
"What is he doing, Sol?" asked Paul.
"When I shet my eyes ez I'm doin' now I kin see him," said the
shiftless one. "He's away off thar toward the north, skirtin'
around an Injun village, Mohawk most likely, lookin' an'
listenin' an' gatherin' talk about their plans."
"He ain't doin' any sech thing," broke in Long Jim.
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