A
young hunter stood leaning against the gate-post of the palisades,
watching the movements of the Indians, who, having just finished
a long "palaver" or talk with Major Hope, were now in the act of
preparing supper. A fire had been kindled on the greensward in front
of the tent, and above it stood a tripod, from which depended a large
tin camp-kettle. Over this hung an ill-favoured Indian woman, or
squaw, who, besides attending to the contents of the pot, bestowed
sundry cuffs and kicks upon her little child, which sat near to her
playing with several Indian curs that gambolled round the fire. The
master of the family and his two sons reclined on buffalo robes,
smoking their stone pipes or calumets in silence. There was nothing
peculiar in their appearance. Their faces were neither dignified nor
coarse in expression, but wore an aspect of stupid apathy, which
formed a striking contrast to the countenance of the young hunter, who
seemed an amused spectator of their proceedings.
The youth referred to was very unlike, in many respects, to what we
are accustomed to suppose a backwoods hunter should be.
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