Chapter 11 - Page 2

intended to meet the exigencies
of a storm.

These little huts were made of the branches of trees, put together
with some ingenuity, and they were uniformly topped with bark that
had been stripped from fallen trees; of which every virgin forest
possesses hundreds, in all stages of decay. Of furniture they had
next to none. Cooking utensils of the simplest sort were lying near
the fire, a few articles of clothing were to be seen in or around
the huts, rifles, horns, and pouches leaned against the trees, or
were suspended from the lower branches, and the carcasses of two
or three deer were stretched to view on the same natural shambles.

As the encampment was in the midst of a dense wood, the eye could
not take in its tout ensemble at a glance, but hut after hut
started out of the gloomy picture, as one gazed about him in quest
of objects. There was no centre, unless the fire might be so
considered, no open area where the possessors of this rude village
might congregate, but all was dark, covert and cunning, like its
owners. A few children strayed from hut to hut, giving the spot
a little of the air of domestic life, and the suppressed laugh
and low voices of the women occasionally broke in upon the deep
stillness of the sombre forest. As for the men, they either ate,
slept, or examined their arms. They conversed but little, and then
usually apart, or in groups withdrawn from the females, whilst an
air of untiring, innate watchfulness and apprehension of danger
seemed to be blended even with their slumbers.

As the two girls came near the encampment, Hetty uttered a slight
exclamation, on catching a view of the person of her father. He
was seated on the ground with his back to a tree, and Hurry stood
near him indolently whittling a twig. Apparently they were as much
at liberty as any others in or about the camp, and one unaccustomed
to Indian usages would have mistaken them for visitors, instead
of supposing them to be captives. Wah-ta-Wah led her new friend
quite near them, and then modestly withdrew, that her own presence
might be no restraint on her feelings. But Hetty was not sufficiently
familiar with caresses or outward demonstrations of fondness, to
indulge in any outbreaking of feeling. She merely approached and
stood at her father's side without speaking, resembling a silent
statue of filial affection. The old man expressed neither alarm
nor surprise at her sudden appearance. In these particulars he
had caught the stoicism of the Indians, well knowing that there was
no more certain mode of securing their respect than by imitating
their self-command. Nor did the savages themselves betray the
least sign of surprise at this sudden appearance of a stranger
among them. In a word, this