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In five or ten minutes after the alarm was given about two hundred Indian braves marched out from the camp in a column which may be described as one-deep i.e. one following the other and took their rapid way up the mountain sides, led by Unaco in person. Next to him marched Paul Bevan, who was followed in succession by Fred Westly, Paddy Flinders, Leaping Buck, and Tolly.
They seemed, in short, to be a happy community, the various members of which had leaned to a large extent from their chief "how good a thing it is for brethren to dwell together in unity." A tent was provided for Bevan, Flinders, and Tolly Trevor near to the wigwam of Unaco, with a separate little one for the special use of the Rose of Oregon.
"But you forget, Paul, that Gashford and his men are here, and will probably endeavour to lay hold of me. I can scarce look on myself as other than an outlaw." "Pooh! lay hold of you!" exclaimed Paul, with contempt; "d'ye think Gashford or any one else will dare to touch you with Mahoghany Drake an' Mister Fred an' Flinders an' me, and Unaco with all his Injins at your back?
"My God can stop you," answered the girl, in a steady voice, though her heart beat fast and her face was very pale. "Your God!" exclaimed the savage. "Will your God defend the wicked?" "No, but He will pardon the wicked who come to Him in the name of Jesus, and He will defend the innocent." "Innocent!" repeated Unaco, vehemently, as he turned and pointed to the botanist.
Unaco himself was somewhat surprised at the mutual recognitions, though his habitual self-restraint enabled him to conceal every trace of emotion. Moreover, he was well aware that he could not afford to lose time in the development of his little plot.
At the same time he gave a friendly little nod to Unaco, thus indicating that with the Indian chief he was already acquainted. "Well, Drake," said Bevan, after the first greetings were over, "all right at the camp down there?" "All well," he replied, "and the Leaping Buck quite recovered."
"But what does Unaco himself think?" asked Westly. "We must fight 'em at once, an' root them out neck and crop!" These words were spoken, not by the Indian, but by a deep bass voice which sent a thrill of surprise, not unmingled with alarm, to more hearts than one; and no wonder, for it was the voice of Gashford, the big bully of Pine Tree Diggings!
"Well, Mister Botanist, sorry I can't say it gives me pleasure to see you. I wonder you're not ashamed to return to the country of the great chief Unaco after running away from him as you did." "I'm in no humour for joking," answered Stalker, gruffly. "What has become of your friend Paul Bevan?"
The poor fellow tried to speak his gratitude, but couldn't; yet I could see it in his looks. He died next day, and I buried him under a pine-tree. The poor heart-broken little brother said he knew the way back to the wigwams of his tribe, so I gave him the most of the provisions I had, told him my name, and sent him away." At this point in the story Unaco rose abruptly, and said to Bevan
"I cannot help thinking," remarked Betty to Tom, as they gazed on the pleasant meeting, "that God must have some way of revealing the Spirit of Jesus to these Indians that we Christians know not of." "It is strange," replied Tom, "that the same thought has occurred to me more than once of late, when observing the character and listening to the sentiments of Unaco.
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