"The white man will follow me."
Paul rose, and the chief led him into the forest a short way, when he
turned abruptly, and, with signs of emotion unusual in an Indian, said--
"Your name is Paul Bevan?"
"It is."
"I am the father of Oswego," said the chief, grasping Paul by the hand
and shaking it vigorously in the white man's fashion.
"I know it, Unaco, and I know you by report, though we've never met
before, and I told that story in your ear to convince ye that my tongue
is _not_ `forked.'"
When Paul Bevan returned to the camp fire, soon afterwards, he came
alone, and both his arms were free. In a few seconds he had the
satisfaction of undoing the bonds of his companions, and relating to
them the brief but interesting conversation which had just passed
between him and the Indian chief.