CHAPTER IX.Sneak skills a sow that “was not all a swine”—The breathless suspense—The match in readiness—Joe’s cool demeanour—The match ignited—Explosion of the mine—Defeat of the savages—The captive—His liberation—The repose—The kitten—Morning.“Don’t you think I know who you are, and what you’re after?” said Sneak, as he observed a large black sow, or what seemed to be one, rambling about on the snow within a hundred paces of him. “If that ain’tmysow! She’s gone, that’s dead sure; and if I don’t pepper the red rascal that killed her I wish I may be split. That Indian ’ll find I’m not such a fool as he took me for. Just wait till he gits close enough. I ain’t to be deceived by my own sow’s dead skin, with a great big Osage in it, nohow you can fix it.” Sneak’s conjecture was right. The Indian that Joe had killed was a chief, and the apparent sow was nothing more than a savage enveloped in a swine’s skin. The Indian, after reconnoitering the premises with some deliberation, evidently believed that his stratagem was successful, and at length moved in the direction of his dead comrade, with the manifest intention of bearing the body away.“I’ll let you have it now!” said Sneak, firing his rifle, when the seeming sow began to drag the fallen chief from the field. The discharge took effect; the savage sprang upright and endeavoured to retreat in the manner that nature designed him to run; but he did not go more than a dozen paces before he sank down and expired.“That’s tit for tat, for killing my sow,” said Sneak, gazing at his postrate foe.“Come here, Sneak,” said Boone, from the opposite side of the inclosure.“There was but one, and I fixed him,” said Sneak, when they asked him how many of the enemy were in view when he fired.“They heard the gun,” said Glenn, applying his ear to the chink, and remarking that the Indians had suddenly ceased to work under the snow.“Be quiet,” said Boone; “they will begin again in a minute or two.”“They’re at it a’ready,” said Sneak, a moment after, and very soon they were heard again, more distinctly than ever, cutting away with increased rapidity.“Suppose the match does not burn?” observed Glenn, in tones betraying a fearful apprehension.“In such an event,” said Boone, “we must retreat into the house, and fasten the door without a moment’s delay. But I do not much fear any such failure, for the dampness of the snow cannot so soon have penetrated through the dry reeds to the powder. Still we should be prepared—therefore, as there is no necessity that more than one of us should be here now, and as I am that man, withdraw, all of you, within the house, and remain there until your ears and eyes shall dictate what course to pursue.” Boone’s command was promptly obeyed, and when they reached the house and looked back, (the door was kept open,) they beheld the renowned pioneer standing erect, holding a pistol in his right hand (which he pointed at the cotton that connected with a train of powder running along a short plank to the reed that reached the buried keg,) while the moon, now midway in the heavens, “and beautifully bright,” revealed the stern and determined expression of pale brow and fixed lip. Thus he stood many minutes, and they seemed hours to those who gazed upon the breathless scene from the house. Not a sound was heard, save the rapid ticking of tomahawks under the snow outside of the inclosure, or the occasional hasty remark of those who were looking on in painful and thrilling suspense. Once Boone bowed his head and listened an instant to the operations of the savages, and when he rose erect again, the party looking on confidently expected he would fire the train. But the fatal moment had not yet arrived. Still he pointed the pistol at the combustible matter, and his eye glanced along the barrel; but he maintained a statue-like stillness, as if awaiting some preconcerted signal.“Why don’t he fire?” inquired Glenn, in a whisper.“It is not quite time yet,” responded Roughgrove.“Dod! they’ll crawl up presently, and jump over the fence,” said Sneak.“Oh, goodness! I wish he’d shoot!” said Joe, in low, sepulchral tones, his head thrust between Sneak’s legs, whither he had crawled unobserved, and was now peering out at the scene.“Who are you?” exclaimed Sneak, leaping away from Joe’s bandaged head, which he did not recognize at the first glance.“It’s nobody but me,” said Joe, turning his face upward, that his friend might not suppose him an enemy.“Well, what are you doing here? I thought you was a dying.”“I’m a good deal better, but I’m too weak to do any thing yet,” said Joe, in piteous tones, as he looked fearfully at Boone, and listened to the strokes of the Indians without, which became louder and louder.“Stand back a little,” said Boone to those in the door-way, “that I may enter when I fire—the match may burn more briskly than I anticipated.”A passage was opened for him to enter. He pulled the trigger—the pistol missed fire—he deliberately poured in fresh priming from his horn, and once more taking aim, the pistol was discharged, and, running to the house, and entering a little beyond the threshold, he paused, and turned to behold the realization of his hopes. The light combustible matter flashed up brightly, and the blaze ran along the ground a moment in the direction of the end of the reed; but at the instant when all expected to see the powder ignited, the flames seemed to die away, and the darkness which succeeded impressed them with the fear that the damp snow had, indeed, defeated their purpose.“Split me if itshan’tgo off!” cried Sneak, running out with a torch in his hand, that he snatched from the fireplace. When he reached the trench that had been dug along the palisade, and in which the slow match was placed, he looked down but once, and dashing his fire-brand behind him, sprang back to the house, with all the celerity of which he was capable. “Dod!” said he, “it’s burning yet, but we couldn’t see it from here. It’ll set the powder off in less than no time!”“I trust it will!” said Boone, with much anxiety. And truly the crisis had arrived, beyond which, if it were delayed a single minute, it would be too late! Thevoicesof the Indians could now be heard, and the sounds of the tomahawks had ceased. They were evidently on the eve of breaking through the icy barrier, and rushing upon their victims. Boone, with a composed but livid brow, placed his hand upon the ponderous door, for the purpose of retreating within, and barring out the ruthless assailants. The rest instinctively imitated his motions, but at the same time their eyes were yet riveted on the dimly burning match. A small flash was observed to illumine the trench—another and a larger one succeeded! The first train of powder was ignited—the Indians were bursting through the snow-crust with direful yells—the blaze ran quickly along the plank—it reached the end of the reed—a shrill whizzing sound succeeded—a sharp crash under the snow—and then all was involved in a tremendous chaotic explosion! An enormous circular cloud of smoke enveloped the scene for a moment, and then could be seen tomahawks, bows, and arrows, and evensavages, sailing through the air. The moon was darkened for the space of several minutes, during which time immense quantities of snow poured down from above. The startling report seemed to rend both the earth and the heavens, and rumbled far up and down the valley of the Missouri, like the deep bellowing of a coruscant thunder-cloud, and died away in successive vibrations until it finally resembled the partially suppressed growling of an angry lion.When the inmates of the house sallied forth, the scene was again quiet. After clearing away the enormous masses of snow from the palisade, they looked out from the inclosure through the loophole on the east, and all was stillness and silence. But the view was changed. Instead of the level and smooth surface, they now beheld a concave formation of snow, beginning at the earth, which was laid bare where the powder had been deposited, and widening, upward and outward, till the ring of the extreme angle reached a height of fifteen or twenty feet, and measured a circumference of fifty paces. But they did not discover a single dead body. On the contrary, they soon distinguished the sounds of the savages afar off, in fiendish and fearful yells, as they retreated in great precipitation.“Dod! none of ’em’s killed!” exclaimed Sneak, looking about in disappointment.“Hang it all, how could they expect to kill any, without putting in some lead?” replied Joe, standing at his elbow, and evincing no symptoms of illness.“What’reyoua doing out here? You’d better go in and finish dying,” said Sneak.“No, I thank you,” said Joe; “my time’s not come yet; and when it does come, I’ll know what to do without your instructions. I’m well now—I never felt better in my life, only when I was eating.”“Go to the horses, Joe, and see if they have suffered any injury,” said Glenn. “I don’t believe a single Indian was killed by the explosion,” he continued, addressing Boone.“The snow may have preserved them,” replied Boone; “and yet,” he continued, “I am sure I saw some of them flying up in the air.”“I saw them too,” said Glenn, “but I have known instances of the kind, when powder-mills have blown up, where men were thrown a considerable distance without being much injured.”“It answered our purpose, at all events,” said Boone, “for now, no inducement whatever can ever bring them back”“If I were sure of that,” replied Glenn, “I would not regret the bloodless result of the explosion.”“You may rely upon it implicitly,” said Boone; “for it was a surprise they can never understand, and they will attach to it some superstitious interpretation, which will most effectually prevent them from meditating another attack”“Goodness gracious alive!” exclaimed Joe, nimbly springing past Boone and Glenn, and rushing into the house.“What can be the matter with the fellow, now?” exclaimed Glenn.“He was alarmed at something in the stable—see what it is, Sneak,” said Boone.“I’ve got you, have I? Dod! come out here!” exclaimed Sneak, when he had been in the stable a few moments.“Who are you talking to?” asked Glenn.“A venimirous Osage smutty-face!” said Sneak, stepping out of the stable door backwards, and dragging an Indian after him by the ears.“What is that?” demanded Glenn, staring at the singular object before him. The question was by no means an unnatural one, for no being in the human shape ever seemed less like a man. The unresisting and bewildered savage looked wildly round, displaying a face as black as if he had just risen from the bottom of some infernal lake. His tattered buckskin garments had shared the same fate in the explosion; his eyebrows, and the hair of his head were singed and crisped; and, altogether he might easily have passed for one of Pluto’s scullions. He did not make resistance when Sneak led him forth, seeming to anticipate nothing else than an instantaneous and cruel death, and was apparently resigned to his fate. He doubtless imagined that escape and longer life were utterly impossible, inasmuch as, to his comprehension, he was in the grasp of evil spirits. If he had asked himselfhowhe came thither, it could not have occurred to him that any other means than the agency of a supernatural power threw him into the hands of the foe.“I thought I saw one of them plunging through the air over the inclosure,” said Boone, smiling.“Hanged if I didn’t think so too,” said Joe, who had at length returned to gaze at the captive, when he ascertained that he was entirely meek and inoffensive.“Have you got over your fright already?” asked Sneak.“What fright?” demanded Joe, with affected surprise.“Now,canyou say you weren’t skeered?”“Ha! ha! ha! I believe you really thought Iwasfrightened. Why, you dunce, you! I only ran in to tell Miss Mary about it.”“Now go to bed. Don’t speak to me agin to night,” said Sneak, indignantly.“I’ll go and get something to eat,” said Joe, retreating into the house.“Tell Roughgrove to come here,” said Boone, speaking to Joe.“I will,” said Joe, vanishing through the door.When the old ferryman came out, Boone requested him (he being the most familiar with the Osage language,) to ask the savage by what means he was enabled to get inside of the inclosure. Roughgrove did his bidding; and the Indian replied that the Great Spiritthrewhim over the palisade, because he once killed a friend of Boone’s at the cave-spring, and was now attempting to kill another.“Why did you wish to kill us?” asked Roughgrove.The Indian said it was because they thought Glenn had a great deal of money, many fire weapons, and powder and bullets, which they (the savages) wanted.“Was itrightto rob the white man of these things, and then to murder him?” continued Roughgrove.The savage replied that the prophet (Raven) had told the war-party it was right. Besides, they came a long and painful journey to get (Glenn’s) goods, and had suffered much with cold in digging under the snow; several of their party had been killed and wounded, and he thought they had a good right to every thing they could get.“Did the whites ever go to your village to rob and murder?” inquired the old ferryman.The Indian assumed a proud look, and replied that theyhad. He said that the buffalo, the bear, the deer, and the beaver—the eternal prairies and forests—the rivers, the air and the sky, all belonged to the red men. That the whites had not beeninvitedto come among them, but they had intruded upon their lands, stolen their game, and killed their warriors. Yet, he said, the Indians did not hate Boone, and would not have attacked the premises that night, if they had known he was there.“Why do they not hate Boone? He has killed more of them than any one else in this region,” continued Roughgrove.The Indian said that Boone was a great prophet, and was loved by the Great Spirit.“Will the war-party return hither to-night?” asked Roughgrove.The Indian answered in the negative; and added that they would never attack that place again, because the Great Spirit had fought against them.Boone requested Roughgrove to ask what would be done with the false prophet who had advised them to make the attack.The savage frowned fiercely, and replied that he would be tied to a tree, and shot through the heart a hundred times.“What do you think we intend to do toyou?” asked Roughgrove.The savage said he would be skinned alive and put under the ice in the river, or burned to death by a slow fire. He said he was ready to die.“I’ll be shot if he isn’t a spunky fellow!” said Sneak.“Do you desire such a fate?” continued the old ferry man.“The Indian looked at him with surprise, and answered without hesitation that hedid—and then insisted upon being killed immediately.“Would you attempt to injure the white man again if we were not to kill you?”The Indian smiled, but made no answer.“I am in earnest,” continued Roughgrove, “and wish to know what you would do if we spared your life.”The Indian said such talk was only trifling, and again insisted upon being dispatched.After a short consultation with Boone and Glenn, Roughgrove repeated his question.The savage replied that he did not believe it possible for him to escape immediate death—but if he were not killed, he could never think of hurting any of those, who saved him, afterwards. Yet he stated very frankly that he would kill and rob anyotherpale-faces he might meet with.“Let me blow his brains out,” said Sneak, throwing his gun up to his shoulder. The Indian understood the movement, if not the words, and turning towards him, presented a full front, without quailing.“He speaks the truth,” said Boone; “he would never injure any of us himself, nor permit any of his tribe to do it, so far as his influence extended. Yet he will die rather than make a promise not to molest others. His word may be strictly relied upon. It is not fear that extorts the promise never to war against us—it would be his gratitude for sparing his life. Take down your gun, Sneak. Let us decide upon his fate. I am in favour of liberating him.”“And I,” said Glenn.“And I,” said Roughgrove.“I vote for killing him,” said Sneak.“Hanged if I don’t, too,” said Joe, who had been listening from the door.“Spare him,” said Mary, who came out, and saw what was passing.“We have the majority, Mary,” said Glenn; “and when innocence pleads, the generous hand is stayed.”Roughgrove motioned the savage to follow, and he led him to the gate. The prisoner did not understand what was to be done. He evidently supposed that his captors were about to slay him, and he looked up, as he thought, the last time, at the moon and the stars, and his lips moved in deep and silent adoration.Roughgrove opened the gate, and the savage followed him out, composedly awaiting his fate. But seeing no indication of violence, and calling to mind the many wild joys of his roving youth, and the horrors of a sudden death, he spoke not, yet his brilliant eyes were dimmed for a moment with tears. His deep gaze seemed to implore mercy at the hands of his captors. He would not utter a petition that his life might be spared, yet his breast heaved to rove free again over the flowery prairies, to bathe in the clear waters of running streams, to inhale the balmy air of midsummer morning, to chase the panting deer upon the dizzy peak, and to hail once more the bright smiles of his timid bride in the forest-shadowed glen.“Go! thou art free!” said Roughgrove.The Indian stared in doubt, and looked reproachfully at the guns in the hands of his captors, as if he thought they were only mocking him with hopes of freedom, when it was their intention to shoot him down the moment he should think his life was truly spared.“Go! we will not harm thee!” repeated Roughgrove.“And take this,” said Mary, placing some food in his yielding hand.The Indian gazed upon the maiden’s face. His features, by a magical transition, now beamed with confidence and hope. Mary was in tears—not tears of pity for his impending death, but a gush of generous emotion that his life was spared. The savage read her heart—he knew that the white woman never intercedes in vain, and that no victim falls when sanctified by her tears. He clasped her hand and pressed it to his lips; and then turning away in silence, set off in a stately and deliberate pace towards the west. He looked not back to see if a treacherous gun was pointed at him. He knew that the maiden had not trifled with him. He knew that she would not mock a dying man with bread. He neither looked back nor quickened his step. And so he vanished from view in the valley.He clapsed her hand, and pressed it to his lips.He clasped her hand, and pressed it to his lips.“Dod! he’s gone! We ought to’ve had his sculp!” said Sneak, betraying serious mortification.“We must give it up, though—we were in the minority,” said Joe, satisfied with the decision.“In the what?” asked Sneak.“In the minority,” said Joe.“Let’s go in the house and git something to eat,” said Sneak.“Hang me if I ain’t willing to be with you there,” said Joe.The whole party entered the house to partake of a collation prepared by the dainty hands of Mary. Mary had frequently insisted upon serving them with refreshments during the night, but hitherto all her persuasions had been unavailing, for the dangers that beset them on every hand had banished all other thoughts than those of determined defensive operations.Boone was so certain that nothing farther was to be apprehended from the enemy, that he dispensed with the sentinels at the loopholes. He relied upon Ringwood and Jowler to guard them through the remainder of the night; and when a hearty meal was eaten he directed his gallant little band to enjoy their wonted repose.Ere long Mary slumbered quietly beside her father, while Boone and Glenn occupied the remaining couch. Sneak was seated on a low stool, near the blazing fire, and Joe sat in Glenn’s large arm chair, on the opposite side of the hearth. The fawn and the kitten were coiled close together in the centre of the room.Save the grinding jaws of Sneak and Joe, a death-like silence reigned. Occasionally, when Sneak lifted his eyes from the pewter platter that lay upon his knees, and glanced at the bandages on his companion’s head, his jaws would cease to move for a few moments, during which he gazed in astonishment at the ravenous propensity of the invalid. But not being inclined to converse or remonstrate, he endeavoured to get through with his supper with as much expedition as possible, that he might enjoy all the comforts of refreshing sleep. Yet he was often on the eve of picking a quarrel with Joe, when he suffered a sudden twinge from his broken tooth, while striving to tear the firmer portion of the venison from the bone. But when he reflected upon his peculiar participation in the occurrence which had caused him so justly to suffer, he repressed his rising anger and proceeded with his labour of eating.Joe, on the other hand, discussed his savoury dish with unalloyed satisfaction; yet he, too, paused occasionally, and fixing his eyes upon the glaring fire, seemed plunged in the deepest thought. But he did not glance at his companion. At these brief intervals he was apparently reflecting upon the incidents of the night. One thing in particular puzzled him; he could not, for the life of him, conceive how his musket rebounded with such violence, when he was positively certain that he had put but one charge in it, and that only a moderate one. He was sometimes inclined to think the blow he received on the head was dealt by Sneak; but when he reflected it would be unnatural for one man to strike another with histeeth, and that Sneak had likewise sustained a serious injury at the same time, conjectures were entirely at fault.“What are you a thinking about so hard?” asked Sneak.“I’m trying to think how I got that blow on the back of my head,” said Joe, turning half abstractedly to Sneak.“Yes, and I’d like to know how you come to mash my mouth so dod-rottedly,” said Sneak, in well-affected ill nature.“Hang it, Sneak, you know well enough that I wouldn’t do such a thing on purpose, when I was obliged to almost knock out my own brains to do it,” said Joe, apologetically.“If I hadn’t thought of that,” replied Sneak, “I don’t know but I should’ve shot you through when I got up.”“And I should never have blamed you for it,” said Joe, “if it had been done on purpose. Does it hurt you much now?”“Don’t you see how its bleeding?”“That’s gravy running out of your mouth, ain’t it?”“Yes, but its bloody a little,” said Sneak, licking his lips.“I shall have to sit up and sleep,” said Joe; “for my head’s so sore I can’t lie down.”“I’m a going to lay my head on this stool and sleep; and I’m getting so drowsy I can’t set much longer,” said Sneak.“All’ll be square between us, about breaking your tooth, won’t it?”“Yes, I can’t bear malice,” said Sneak, shaking Joe’s extended hand.“Oh me!” said Joe, “I shan’t be able to doze a bit, hardly, for trying to study out how the old musket came to kick me so.”“I’ve got a notion to tell you, jest to see if you’ll sleep any better, then.”“Do you know?” asked Joe, quickly; “if you do, I’ll thank you with all my heart to tell me?”“Dod! if I don’t!” said Sneak; “but all’s square betwixt us?”“Yes, if you’re willing.”“Well, don’t you remember when I told you to count the Indians standing out there, I leant agin you to look over your shoulder? I stole a cartrich out of your shot-bag then, and slipt it in the muzzle of your musket. Don’t you know it was leaning agin the post?”Joe turned round and looked Sneak full in the face for several moments, without uttering a word.“When it went off,” continued Sneak, “it made the tremendousest crack I ever heard in all my life, except when the keg of powder busted.”“You confounded, blasted rascal you!” exclaimed Joe, doubling up his fists, and preparing to assault his friend.“Now don’t go to waking up the folks!” said Sneak.“I’ll be hanged if I hain’t got a great notion to wear out the iron poker over your head!” continued Joe, his eyes gleaming with rage.“Look at my tooth,” said Sneak, grinning in such manner that the remaining fragment of the member named could be distinctly seen. The ludicrous expression of his features was such as constrained Joe to smile, and his enmity vanished instantaneously.“I believe you got the worst of the bargain, after all,” said Joe, falling back in his chair and laughing quite heartily.“You know,” continued Sneak, “I didn’t mean it to turn out as bad as it did. I jest thought it would kick you over in the snow, and not hurt you any, hardly.”“Well, let’s say no more about it,” said Joe; “but when you do any thing of that kind hereafter, pause and reflect on the consequences, and forbear.”“I’ll keep my mouth out of the way next time,” said Sneak; “and now, as all’s square betwixt us, s’pose we agree about how we are to do with them dead Indians. S’pose we go halves with all the things they’ve got?”“No, I’ll be hanged if I do!” said Joe quickly. “The one I shot was a chief, and he’s sure to have some gold about him.”“Yes, but you know you’d never a killed him if it hadn’t been for me.”“But if it hadn’t been for you I wouldn’t have got hurt,” replied Joe, reproachfully.“Well, I don’t care much about the chief—the one I killed maybe took all his silver and gold before I shot him. Anyhow, I know I can find something out there in the snow where they were blowed up,” said Sneak, arranging a buffalo robe on the hearth and lying down.“And we must hereafter let each other alone, Sneak,” said Joe, “for the fact is, we are both too much for one another in our tricks.”“I’m willing,” replied Sneak, lazily, as his eyes gradually closed.Joe placed his dish on the shelf over the fireplace, and folding his arms, and leaning back in his great chair, likewise closed his eyes.But a few moments sufficed to place them both in the land of dreams. And now the silence was intense. Even the consuming logs of wood seemed to sink by degrees into huge livid coals, without emitting the least sparkling sound. The embers threw a dim glare over the scene, such as Queen Mab delights in when she leads her fairy train through the chambers of sleeping mortals. A sweet smile rested upon the lips of Mary. A loved form flitted athwart her visions. Roughgrove’s features wore a grave but placid cast. Boone’s face was as passionless and calm as if he were a stranger to terrific strife. Perils could now make no impression on him. There was sadness on the damp brow of Glenn, and a tear was stealing through the corner of his lids. A scene of woe, or the crush of cherished hopes, was passing before his entranced vision. Sneak, ever and anon grasped the empty air, and motioned his arm, as if in the midst of deadly conflict. And Joe, though his bruised face betrayed not his cast of thought, still evinced a participation in the ideal transactions of the night, by the frequent involuntary motions of his body, and repeated endeavours to avoid visionary dangers.The kitten lay upon the soft neck of the fawn, and at intervals resumed its low, humming song, which had more than once been hushed in perfect repose. At a late hour, or rather an early one, just ere the first faint ray of morning appeared in the distant east, puss purred rather harshly on the silken ears of its companion, and its sharp claws producing a stinging sensation, the fawn shook its head violently, and threw its little bed-fellow rather rudely several feet away. The kitten, instead of being angry, fell into a merry mood, and began to frisk about in divers directions, first running under the bed, then springing upon some diminutive object on the floor as it would upon a mouse, and finally pricking again the ear of the fawn. The fawn then rose up, and creeping gently about the room, touched the cheeks or hands of the slumbering inmates with its velvet tongue, but so softly that none were awakened. The kitten, no longer able to annoy its companion by its mischievous pranks, now paced up to the fire and commenced playing with a dangling string attached to Joe’s moccasin. Once it jumped up with such force against his foot that he jerked it quickly several inches away. But this only diverted puss the more. Instead of being content with the palpable demonstration thus effected, it followed up the advantage gained by applying both its claws and teeth to the foot. While it confined its operations to the stout buckskin, but little impression was made; but when it came in contact with the ankle, which was only covered with a yarn stocking, the result was entirely different.“Ugh! Confound the fire!” exclaimed Joe, giving a tremendous kick, which dashed puss most violently into Sneak’s face.“Hey! Dod! What is it?” cried Sneak, tearing the kitten (whose briery nails had penetrated the skin of his nose) away, and throwing it across the room. “I say! did you do that?” continued Sneak, wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve, and addressing Joe, who kept his eyes fast closed, though almost bursting with suppressed laughter, and pretending to be steeped in earnest slumber. “I won’t stand this!” said Sneak, smarting with his wounds, and striking the chair in which Joe sat with his foot. “Now,” continued Sneak, “if you done that, jest say so, that’s all.”“Did what?” asked Joe, opening his eyes suddenly.“Why, throwed that ere pestiverous cat on me!” said Sneak.“No. Goodness! is there a pole-cat in here?” exclaimed Joe, in such well-counterfeited tones of anxiety and alarm, that the real encounter occurring to Sneak, and his pain being now somewhat abated, he gave vent to a hearty fit of laughter, which awoke every person in the house.
Sneak skills a sow that “was not all a swine”—The breathless suspense—The match in readiness—Joe’s cool demeanour—The match ignited—Explosion of the mine—Defeat of the savages—The captive—His liberation—The repose—The kitten—Morning.
“Don’t you think I know who you are, and what you’re after?” said Sneak, as he observed a large black sow, or what seemed to be one, rambling about on the snow within a hundred paces of him. “If that ain’tmysow! She’s gone, that’s dead sure; and if I don’t pepper the red rascal that killed her I wish I may be split. That Indian ’ll find I’m not such a fool as he took me for. Just wait till he gits close enough. I ain’t to be deceived by my own sow’s dead skin, with a great big Osage in it, nohow you can fix it.” Sneak’s conjecture was right. The Indian that Joe had killed was a chief, and the apparent sow was nothing more than a savage enveloped in a swine’s skin. The Indian, after reconnoitering the premises with some deliberation, evidently believed that his stratagem was successful, and at length moved in the direction of his dead comrade, with the manifest intention of bearing the body away.
“I’ll let you have it now!” said Sneak, firing his rifle, when the seeming sow began to drag the fallen chief from the field. The discharge took effect; the savage sprang upright and endeavoured to retreat in the manner that nature designed him to run; but he did not go more than a dozen paces before he sank down and expired.
“That’s tit for tat, for killing my sow,” said Sneak, gazing at his postrate foe.
“Come here, Sneak,” said Boone, from the opposite side of the inclosure.
“There was but one, and I fixed him,” said Sneak, when they asked him how many of the enemy were in view when he fired.
“They heard the gun,” said Glenn, applying his ear to the chink, and remarking that the Indians had suddenly ceased to work under the snow.
“Be quiet,” said Boone; “they will begin again in a minute or two.”
“They’re at it a’ready,” said Sneak, a moment after, and very soon they were heard again, more distinctly than ever, cutting away with increased rapidity.
“Suppose the match does not burn?” observed Glenn, in tones betraying a fearful apprehension.
“In such an event,” said Boone, “we must retreat into the house, and fasten the door without a moment’s delay. But I do not much fear any such failure, for the dampness of the snow cannot so soon have penetrated through the dry reeds to the powder. Still we should be prepared—therefore, as there is no necessity that more than one of us should be here now, and as I am that man, withdraw, all of you, within the house, and remain there until your ears and eyes shall dictate what course to pursue.” Boone’s command was promptly obeyed, and when they reached the house and looked back, (the door was kept open,) they beheld the renowned pioneer standing erect, holding a pistol in his right hand (which he pointed at the cotton that connected with a train of powder running along a short plank to the reed that reached the buried keg,) while the moon, now midway in the heavens, “and beautifully bright,” revealed the stern and determined expression of pale brow and fixed lip. Thus he stood many minutes, and they seemed hours to those who gazed upon the breathless scene from the house. Not a sound was heard, save the rapid ticking of tomahawks under the snow outside of the inclosure, or the occasional hasty remark of those who were looking on in painful and thrilling suspense. Once Boone bowed his head and listened an instant to the operations of the savages, and when he rose erect again, the party looking on confidently expected he would fire the train. But the fatal moment had not yet arrived. Still he pointed the pistol at the combustible matter, and his eye glanced along the barrel; but he maintained a statue-like stillness, as if awaiting some preconcerted signal.
“Why don’t he fire?” inquired Glenn, in a whisper.
“It is not quite time yet,” responded Roughgrove.
“Dod! they’ll crawl up presently, and jump over the fence,” said Sneak.
“Oh, goodness! I wish he’d shoot!” said Joe, in low, sepulchral tones, his head thrust between Sneak’s legs, whither he had crawled unobserved, and was now peering out at the scene.
“Who are you?” exclaimed Sneak, leaping away from Joe’s bandaged head, which he did not recognize at the first glance.
“It’s nobody but me,” said Joe, turning his face upward, that his friend might not suppose him an enemy.
“Well, what are you doing here? I thought you was a dying.”
“I’m a good deal better, but I’m too weak to do any thing yet,” said Joe, in piteous tones, as he looked fearfully at Boone, and listened to the strokes of the Indians without, which became louder and louder.
“Stand back a little,” said Boone to those in the door-way, “that I may enter when I fire—the match may burn more briskly than I anticipated.”
A passage was opened for him to enter. He pulled the trigger—the pistol missed fire—he deliberately poured in fresh priming from his horn, and once more taking aim, the pistol was discharged, and, running to the house, and entering a little beyond the threshold, he paused, and turned to behold the realization of his hopes. The light combustible matter flashed up brightly, and the blaze ran along the ground a moment in the direction of the end of the reed; but at the instant when all expected to see the powder ignited, the flames seemed to die away, and the darkness which succeeded impressed them with the fear that the damp snow had, indeed, defeated their purpose.
“Split me if itshan’tgo off!” cried Sneak, running out with a torch in his hand, that he snatched from the fireplace. When he reached the trench that had been dug along the palisade, and in which the slow match was placed, he looked down but once, and dashing his fire-brand behind him, sprang back to the house, with all the celerity of which he was capable. “Dod!” said he, “it’s burning yet, but we couldn’t see it from here. It’ll set the powder off in less than no time!”
“I trust it will!” said Boone, with much anxiety. And truly the crisis had arrived, beyond which, if it were delayed a single minute, it would be too late! Thevoicesof the Indians could now be heard, and the sounds of the tomahawks had ceased. They were evidently on the eve of breaking through the icy barrier, and rushing upon their victims. Boone, with a composed but livid brow, placed his hand upon the ponderous door, for the purpose of retreating within, and barring out the ruthless assailants. The rest instinctively imitated his motions, but at the same time their eyes were yet riveted on the dimly burning match. A small flash was observed to illumine the trench—another and a larger one succeeded! The first train of powder was ignited—the Indians were bursting through the snow-crust with direful yells—the blaze ran quickly along the plank—it reached the end of the reed—a shrill whizzing sound succeeded—a sharp crash under the snow—and then all was involved in a tremendous chaotic explosion! An enormous circular cloud of smoke enveloped the scene for a moment, and then could be seen tomahawks, bows, and arrows, and evensavages, sailing through the air. The moon was darkened for the space of several minutes, during which time immense quantities of snow poured down from above. The startling report seemed to rend both the earth and the heavens, and rumbled far up and down the valley of the Missouri, like the deep bellowing of a coruscant thunder-cloud, and died away in successive vibrations until it finally resembled the partially suppressed growling of an angry lion.
When the inmates of the house sallied forth, the scene was again quiet. After clearing away the enormous masses of snow from the palisade, they looked out from the inclosure through the loophole on the east, and all was stillness and silence. But the view was changed. Instead of the level and smooth surface, they now beheld a concave formation of snow, beginning at the earth, which was laid bare where the powder had been deposited, and widening, upward and outward, till the ring of the extreme angle reached a height of fifteen or twenty feet, and measured a circumference of fifty paces. But they did not discover a single dead body. On the contrary, they soon distinguished the sounds of the savages afar off, in fiendish and fearful yells, as they retreated in great precipitation.
“Dod! none of ’em’s killed!” exclaimed Sneak, looking about in disappointment.
“Hang it all, how could they expect to kill any, without putting in some lead?” replied Joe, standing at his elbow, and evincing no symptoms of illness.
“What’reyoua doing out here? You’d better go in and finish dying,” said Sneak.
“No, I thank you,” said Joe; “my time’s not come yet; and when it does come, I’ll know what to do without your instructions. I’m well now—I never felt better in my life, only when I was eating.”
“Go to the horses, Joe, and see if they have suffered any injury,” said Glenn. “I don’t believe a single Indian was killed by the explosion,” he continued, addressing Boone.
“The snow may have preserved them,” replied Boone; “and yet,” he continued, “I am sure I saw some of them flying up in the air.”
“I saw them too,” said Glenn, “but I have known instances of the kind, when powder-mills have blown up, where men were thrown a considerable distance without being much injured.”
“It answered our purpose, at all events,” said Boone, “for now, no inducement whatever can ever bring them back”
“If I were sure of that,” replied Glenn, “I would not regret the bloodless result of the explosion.”
“You may rely upon it implicitly,” said Boone; “for it was a surprise they can never understand, and they will attach to it some superstitious interpretation, which will most effectually prevent them from meditating another attack”
“Goodness gracious alive!” exclaimed Joe, nimbly springing past Boone and Glenn, and rushing into the house.
“What can be the matter with the fellow, now?” exclaimed Glenn.
“He was alarmed at something in the stable—see what it is, Sneak,” said Boone.
“I’ve got you, have I? Dod! come out here!” exclaimed Sneak, when he had been in the stable a few moments.
“Who are you talking to?” asked Glenn.
“A venimirous Osage smutty-face!” said Sneak, stepping out of the stable door backwards, and dragging an Indian after him by the ears.
“What is that?” demanded Glenn, staring at the singular object before him. The question was by no means an unnatural one, for no being in the human shape ever seemed less like a man. The unresisting and bewildered savage looked wildly round, displaying a face as black as if he had just risen from the bottom of some infernal lake. His tattered buckskin garments had shared the same fate in the explosion; his eyebrows, and the hair of his head were singed and crisped; and, altogether he might easily have passed for one of Pluto’s scullions. He did not make resistance when Sneak led him forth, seeming to anticipate nothing else than an instantaneous and cruel death, and was apparently resigned to his fate. He doubtless imagined that escape and longer life were utterly impossible, inasmuch as, to his comprehension, he was in the grasp of evil spirits. If he had asked himselfhowhe came thither, it could not have occurred to him that any other means than the agency of a supernatural power threw him into the hands of the foe.
“I thought I saw one of them plunging through the air over the inclosure,” said Boone, smiling.
“Hanged if I didn’t think so too,” said Joe, who had at length returned to gaze at the captive, when he ascertained that he was entirely meek and inoffensive.
“Have you got over your fright already?” asked Sneak.
“What fright?” demanded Joe, with affected surprise.
“Now,canyou say you weren’t skeered?”
“Ha! ha! ha! I believe you really thought Iwasfrightened. Why, you dunce, you! I only ran in to tell Miss Mary about it.”
“Now go to bed. Don’t speak to me agin to night,” said Sneak, indignantly.
“I’ll go and get something to eat,” said Joe, retreating into the house.
“Tell Roughgrove to come here,” said Boone, speaking to Joe.
“I will,” said Joe, vanishing through the door.
When the old ferryman came out, Boone requested him (he being the most familiar with the Osage language,) to ask the savage by what means he was enabled to get inside of the inclosure. Roughgrove did his bidding; and the Indian replied that the Great Spiritthrewhim over the palisade, because he once killed a friend of Boone’s at the cave-spring, and was now attempting to kill another.
“Why did you wish to kill us?” asked Roughgrove.
The Indian said it was because they thought Glenn had a great deal of money, many fire weapons, and powder and bullets, which they (the savages) wanted.
“Was itrightto rob the white man of these things, and then to murder him?” continued Roughgrove.
The savage replied that the prophet (Raven) had told the war-party it was right. Besides, they came a long and painful journey to get (Glenn’s) goods, and had suffered much with cold in digging under the snow; several of their party had been killed and wounded, and he thought they had a good right to every thing they could get.
“Did the whites ever go to your village to rob and murder?” inquired the old ferryman.
The Indian assumed a proud look, and replied that theyhad. He said that the buffalo, the bear, the deer, and the beaver—the eternal prairies and forests—the rivers, the air and the sky, all belonged to the red men. That the whites had not beeninvitedto come among them, but they had intruded upon their lands, stolen their game, and killed their warriors. Yet, he said, the Indians did not hate Boone, and would not have attacked the premises that night, if they had known he was there.
“Why do they not hate Boone? He has killed more of them than any one else in this region,” continued Roughgrove.
The Indian said that Boone was a great prophet, and was loved by the Great Spirit.
“Will the war-party return hither to-night?” asked Roughgrove.
The Indian answered in the negative; and added that they would never attack that place again, because the Great Spirit had fought against them.
Boone requested Roughgrove to ask what would be done with the false prophet who had advised them to make the attack.
The savage frowned fiercely, and replied that he would be tied to a tree, and shot through the heart a hundred times.
“What do you think we intend to do toyou?” asked Roughgrove.
The savage said he would be skinned alive and put under the ice in the river, or burned to death by a slow fire. He said he was ready to die.
“I’ll be shot if he isn’t a spunky fellow!” said Sneak.
“Do you desire such a fate?” continued the old ferry man.
“The Indian looked at him with surprise, and answered without hesitation that hedid—and then insisted upon being killed immediately.
“Would you attempt to injure the white man again if we were not to kill you?”
The Indian smiled, but made no answer.
“I am in earnest,” continued Roughgrove, “and wish to know what you would do if we spared your life.”
The Indian said such talk was only trifling, and again insisted upon being dispatched.
After a short consultation with Boone and Glenn, Roughgrove repeated his question.
The savage replied that he did not believe it possible for him to escape immediate death—but if he were not killed, he could never think of hurting any of those, who saved him, afterwards. Yet he stated very frankly that he would kill and rob anyotherpale-faces he might meet with.
“Let me blow his brains out,” said Sneak, throwing his gun up to his shoulder. The Indian understood the movement, if not the words, and turning towards him, presented a full front, without quailing.
“He speaks the truth,” said Boone; “he would never injure any of us himself, nor permit any of his tribe to do it, so far as his influence extended. Yet he will die rather than make a promise not to molest others. His word may be strictly relied upon. It is not fear that extorts the promise never to war against us—it would be his gratitude for sparing his life. Take down your gun, Sneak. Let us decide upon his fate. I am in favour of liberating him.”
“And I,” said Glenn.
“And I,” said Roughgrove.
“I vote for killing him,” said Sneak.
“Hanged if I don’t, too,” said Joe, who had been listening from the door.
“Spare him,” said Mary, who came out, and saw what was passing.
“We have the majority, Mary,” said Glenn; “and when innocence pleads, the generous hand is stayed.”
Roughgrove motioned the savage to follow, and he led him to the gate. The prisoner did not understand what was to be done. He evidently supposed that his captors were about to slay him, and he looked up, as he thought, the last time, at the moon and the stars, and his lips moved in deep and silent adoration.
Roughgrove opened the gate, and the savage followed him out, composedly awaiting his fate. But seeing no indication of violence, and calling to mind the many wild joys of his roving youth, and the horrors of a sudden death, he spoke not, yet his brilliant eyes were dimmed for a moment with tears. His deep gaze seemed to implore mercy at the hands of his captors. He would not utter a petition that his life might be spared, yet his breast heaved to rove free again over the flowery prairies, to bathe in the clear waters of running streams, to inhale the balmy air of midsummer morning, to chase the panting deer upon the dizzy peak, and to hail once more the bright smiles of his timid bride in the forest-shadowed glen.
“Go! thou art free!” said Roughgrove.
The Indian stared in doubt, and looked reproachfully at the guns in the hands of his captors, as if he thought they were only mocking him with hopes of freedom, when it was their intention to shoot him down the moment he should think his life was truly spared.
“Go! we will not harm thee!” repeated Roughgrove.
“And take this,” said Mary, placing some food in his yielding hand.
The Indian gazed upon the maiden’s face. His features, by a magical transition, now beamed with confidence and hope. Mary was in tears—not tears of pity for his impending death, but a gush of generous emotion that his life was spared. The savage read her heart—he knew that the white woman never intercedes in vain, and that no victim falls when sanctified by her tears. He clasped her hand and pressed it to his lips; and then turning away in silence, set off in a stately and deliberate pace towards the west. He looked not back to see if a treacherous gun was pointed at him. He knew that the maiden had not trifled with him. He knew that she would not mock a dying man with bread. He neither looked back nor quickened his step. And so he vanished from view in the valley.
He clapsed her hand, and pressed it to his lips.
He clasped her hand, and pressed it to his lips.
“Dod! he’s gone! We ought to’ve had his sculp!” said Sneak, betraying serious mortification.
“We must give it up, though—we were in the minority,” said Joe, satisfied with the decision.
“In the what?” asked Sneak.
“In the minority,” said Joe.
“Let’s go in the house and git something to eat,” said Sneak.
“Hang me if I ain’t willing to be with you there,” said Joe.
The whole party entered the house to partake of a collation prepared by the dainty hands of Mary. Mary had frequently insisted upon serving them with refreshments during the night, but hitherto all her persuasions had been unavailing, for the dangers that beset them on every hand had banished all other thoughts than those of determined defensive operations.
Boone was so certain that nothing farther was to be apprehended from the enemy, that he dispensed with the sentinels at the loopholes. He relied upon Ringwood and Jowler to guard them through the remainder of the night; and when a hearty meal was eaten he directed his gallant little band to enjoy their wonted repose.
Ere long Mary slumbered quietly beside her father, while Boone and Glenn occupied the remaining couch. Sneak was seated on a low stool, near the blazing fire, and Joe sat in Glenn’s large arm chair, on the opposite side of the hearth. The fawn and the kitten were coiled close together in the centre of the room.
Save the grinding jaws of Sneak and Joe, a death-like silence reigned. Occasionally, when Sneak lifted his eyes from the pewter platter that lay upon his knees, and glanced at the bandages on his companion’s head, his jaws would cease to move for a few moments, during which he gazed in astonishment at the ravenous propensity of the invalid. But not being inclined to converse or remonstrate, he endeavoured to get through with his supper with as much expedition as possible, that he might enjoy all the comforts of refreshing sleep. Yet he was often on the eve of picking a quarrel with Joe, when he suffered a sudden twinge from his broken tooth, while striving to tear the firmer portion of the venison from the bone. But when he reflected upon his peculiar participation in the occurrence which had caused him so justly to suffer, he repressed his rising anger and proceeded with his labour of eating.
Joe, on the other hand, discussed his savoury dish with unalloyed satisfaction; yet he, too, paused occasionally, and fixing his eyes upon the glaring fire, seemed plunged in the deepest thought. But he did not glance at his companion. At these brief intervals he was apparently reflecting upon the incidents of the night. One thing in particular puzzled him; he could not, for the life of him, conceive how his musket rebounded with such violence, when he was positively certain that he had put but one charge in it, and that only a moderate one. He was sometimes inclined to think the blow he received on the head was dealt by Sneak; but when he reflected it would be unnatural for one man to strike another with histeeth, and that Sneak had likewise sustained a serious injury at the same time, conjectures were entirely at fault.
“What are you a thinking about so hard?” asked Sneak.
“I’m trying to think how I got that blow on the back of my head,” said Joe, turning half abstractedly to Sneak.
“Yes, and I’d like to know how you come to mash my mouth so dod-rottedly,” said Sneak, in well-affected ill nature.
“Hang it, Sneak, you know well enough that I wouldn’t do such a thing on purpose, when I was obliged to almost knock out my own brains to do it,” said Joe, apologetically.
“If I hadn’t thought of that,” replied Sneak, “I don’t know but I should’ve shot you through when I got up.”
“And I should never have blamed you for it,” said Joe, “if it had been done on purpose. Does it hurt you much now?”
“Don’t you see how its bleeding?”
“That’s gravy running out of your mouth, ain’t it?”
“Yes, but its bloody a little,” said Sneak, licking his lips.
“I shall have to sit up and sleep,” said Joe; “for my head’s so sore I can’t lie down.”
“I’m a going to lay my head on this stool and sleep; and I’m getting so drowsy I can’t set much longer,” said Sneak.
“All’ll be square between us, about breaking your tooth, won’t it?”
“Yes, I can’t bear malice,” said Sneak, shaking Joe’s extended hand.
“Oh me!” said Joe, “I shan’t be able to doze a bit, hardly, for trying to study out how the old musket came to kick me so.”
“I’ve got a notion to tell you, jest to see if you’ll sleep any better, then.”
“Do you know?” asked Joe, quickly; “if you do, I’ll thank you with all my heart to tell me?”
“Dod! if I don’t!” said Sneak; “but all’s square betwixt us?”
“Yes, if you’re willing.”
“Well, don’t you remember when I told you to count the Indians standing out there, I leant agin you to look over your shoulder? I stole a cartrich out of your shot-bag then, and slipt it in the muzzle of your musket. Don’t you know it was leaning agin the post?”
Joe turned round and looked Sneak full in the face for several moments, without uttering a word.
“When it went off,” continued Sneak, “it made the tremendousest crack I ever heard in all my life, except when the keg of powder busted.”
“You confounded, blasted rascal you!” exclaimed Joe, doubling up his fists, and preparing to assault his friend.
“Now don’t go to waking up the folks!” said Sneak.
“I’ll be hanged if I hain’t got a great notion to wear out the iron poker over your head!” continued Joe, his eyes gleaming with rage.
“Look at my tooth,” said Sneak, grinning in such manner that the remaining fragment of the member named could be distinctly seen. The ludicrous expression of his features was such as constrained Joe to smile, and his enmity vanished instantaneously.
“I believe you got the worst of the bargain, after all,” said Joe, falling back in his chair and laughing quite heartily.
“You know,” continued Sneak, “I didn’t mean it to turn out as bad as it did. I jest thought it would kick you over in the snow, and not hurt you any, hardly.”
“Well, let’s say no more about it,” said Joe; “but when you do any thing of that kind hereafter, pause and reflect on the consequences, and forbear.”
“I’ll keep my mouth out of the way next time,” said Sneak; “and now, as all’s square betwixt us, s’pose we agree about how we are to do with them dead Indians. S’pose we go halves with all the things they’ve got?”
“No, I’ll be hanged if I do!” said Joe quickly. “The one I shot was a chief, and he’s sure to have some gold about him.”
“Yes, but you know you’d never a killed him if it hadn’t been for me.”
“But if it hadn’t been for you I wouldn’t have got hurt,” replied Joe, reproachfully.
“Well, I don’t care much about the chief—the one I killed maybe took all his silver and gold before I shot him. Anyhow, I know I can find something out there in the snow where they were blowed up,” said Sneak, arranging a buffalo robe on the hearth and lying down.
“And we must hereafter let each other alone, Sneak,” said Joe, “for the fact is, we are both too much for one another in our tricks.”
“I’m willing,” replied Sneak, lazily, as his eyes gradually closed.
Joe placed his dish on the shelf over the fireplace, and folding his arms, and leaning back in his great chair, likewise closed his eyes.
But a few moments sufficed to place them both in the land of dreams. And now the silence was intense. Even the consuming logs of wood seemed to sink by degrees into huge livid coals, without emitting the least sparkling sound. The embers threw a dim glare over the scene, such as Queen Mab delights in when she leads her fairy train through the chambers of sleeping mortals. A sweet smile rested upon the lips of Mary. A loved form flitted athwart her visions. Roughgrove’s features wore a grave but placid cast. Boone’s face was as passionless and calm as if he were a stranger to terrific strife. Perils could now make no impression on him. There was sadness on the damp brow of Glenn, and a tear was stealing through the corner of his lids. A scene of woe, or the crush of cherished hopes, was passing before his entranced vision. Sneak, ever and anon grasped the empty air, and motioned his arm, as if in the midst of deadly conflict. And Joe, though his bruised face betrayed not his cast of thought, still evinced a participation in the ideal transactions of the night, by the frequent involuntary motions of his body, and repeated endeavours to avoid visionary dangers.
The kitten lay upon the soft neck of the fawn, and at intervals resumed its low, humming song, which had more than once been hushed in perfect repose. At a late hour, or rather an early one, just ere the first faint ray of morning appeared in the distant east, puss purred rather harshly on the silken ears of its companion, and its sharp claws producing a stinging sensation, the fawn shook its head violently, and threw its little bed-fellow rather rudely several feet away. The kitten, instead of being angry, fell into a merry mood, and began to frisk about in divers directions, first running under the bed, then springing upon some diminutive object on the floor as it would upon a mouse, and finally pricking again the ear of the fawn. The fawn then rose up, and creeping gently about the room, touched the cheeks or hands of the slumbering inmates with its velvet tongue, but so softly that none were awakened. The kitten, no longer able to annoy its companion by its mischievous pranks, now paced up to the fire and commenced playing with a dangling string attached to Joe’s moccasin. Once it jumped up with such force against his foot that he jerked it quickly several inches away. But this only diverted puss the more. Instead of being content with the palpable demonstration thus effected, it followed up the advantage gained by applying both its claws and teeth to the foot. While it confined its operations to the stout buckskin, but little impression was made; but when it came in contact with the ankle, which was only covered with a yarn stocking, the result was entirely different.
“Ugh! Confound the fire!” exclaimed Joe, giving a tremendous kick, which dashed puss most violently into Sneak’s face.
“Hey! Dod! What is it?” cried Sneak, tearing the kitten (whose briery nails had penetrated the skin of his nose) away, and throwing it across the room. “I say! did you do that?” continued Sneak, wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve, and addressing Joe, who kept his eyes fast closed, though almost bursting with suppressed laughter, and pretending to be steeped in earnest slumber. “I won’t stand this!” said Sneak, smarting with his wounds, and striking the chair in which Joe sat with his foot. “Now,” continued Sneak, “if you done that, jest say so, that’s all.”
“Did what?” asked Joe, opening his eyes suddenly.
“Why, throwed that ere pestiverous cat on me!” said Sneak.
“No. Goodness! is there a pole-cat in here?” exclaimed Joe, in such well-counterfeited tones of anxiety and alarm, that the real encounter occurring to Sneak, and his pain being now somewhat abated, he gave vent to a hearty fit of laughter, which awoke every person in the house.