University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.

Mahtoree encountered, at the door of his lodge,
the persons of Ishmael, Abiram, and Esther. The
first glance of his eye, at the earnest and threatening
countenance of the heavy-moulded squatter,
served to tell the cunning Teton, that the treacherous
truce he had made, with these dupes of his superior
sagacity, was in some danger of a violent
termination.

“Look you here, old gray-beard,” said Ishmael,
seizing the trapper, and whirling him round as though
he had been a toy; “that I'm tired of carrying on a
discourse with fingers and thumbs, instead of a tongue,
ar' a natural fact; so you'll play linguister and put
my words into up-and-down Indian, without much
caring whether they suit the stomach of a Red-skin
or not.”

“Say on, friend,” calmly returned the trapper;
“they shall be given as plainly as you send them.”

“Friend!” repeated the squatter, eyeing the other
for an instant, with an expression of an indefinable
meaning. “But it is no more than a word, and
sounds break no bones and survey no farms. Tell

this thieving Sioux, then, that I come to claim the
conditions of our solemn bargain, made at the foot
of the rock.”

When the trapper had rendered his meaning into
the Sioux language, Mahtoree demanded, with an air
of surprise—

“Is my brother cold? buffaloe skins are plenty. Is
he hungry? Let my young men carry venison into
his lodges.”

The squatter elevated his clenched fist in a menacing
manner, and struck it with violence on the palm
of his open hand, by way of confirming his determination
as he answered—

“Tell the deceitful liar, I have not come like a
beggar to pick his bones, but like a freeman asking
for his own; and have it I will. And, moreover, tell
him I claim that you, too, miserable sinner as you
ar', should be given up to justice. There's no mistake.
My prisoner, my niece, and you. I demand
the three at his hands, according to a sworn agreement.”

The immoveable old man smiled, with an expression
of singular intelligence, as he answered—

“Friend squatter, you ask what few men would be
willing to grant. You would first cut the tongue
from the mouth of the Teton, and then the heart
from his bosom.”

“It is little that Ishmael Bush regards who or what
is damaged in claiming his own. But put you the
questions in straight-going Indian, and when you
speak of yourself, make such a sign as a white man
will understand, in order that I may know there is no
foul play.”

The trapper laughed in his silent fashion, and
muttered a few words to himself before he addressed
the chief—

“Let the Dahcotah open his ears very wide,” he

then said, “that big words may have room to enter.
His friend the Big-knife comes with an empty hand,
and he says that the Teton must fill it.”

“Wagh! Mahtoree is a rich chief. He is master
of the prairies.”

“He must give the dark-hair.”

The brow of the chief contracted in an ominous
frown, that threatened instant destruction to the audacious
squatter, but as suddenly recollecting his
policy, he craftily replied with a treacherous smile—

“A girl is too light for the hand of such a brave.
I will fill it with buffaloes.”

“He says he has need of the light-hair too; who
has his blood in her veins.”

“She shall be the wife of Mahtoree; then the
Long-knife will be the father of a chief.”

“And me,” continued the trapper making one of
those expressive signs, by which the natives communicate
with nearly the same facility as with their tongues,
and turning to the squatter at the same time, in
order that the latter might see he dealt fairly by him;
“he asks for a miserable and worn out trapper.”

The Dahcotah threw his arm over the shoulder
of the old man, with an air of great affection, before
he replied to this third and last demand.

“My friend is old,” he said, “and cannot travel
far. He will stay with the Tetons, that they may
learn wisdom from his words. What Sioux has a
tongue like my father! No, let his words be very
soft, but let them be very clear. Mahtoree will give
skins and buffaloes. He will give the young men of
the Pale-faces wives, but he cannot give away any
who live in his own lodge.”

Perfectly satisfied, himself, with this laconic reply,
the chief was moving towards his expecting counsellors,
when suddenly returning he interrupted the
translation of the trapper by adding—

“Tell the Great Buffaloe” (a name by which the

Tetons had already christened Ishmael,) “that Mahtoree
has a hand which is always open. See,” he
added, pointing to the hard and wrinkled visage of
the attentive Esther, “his wife is too old, for so great
a chief. Let him put her out of his lodge. Mahtoree
loves him as a brother. He is his brother. He
shall have the youngest wife of the Teton. Tachechana,
the pride of the Sioux girls, shall cook his
venison, and many braves will look at him with longing
minds. Go, a Dahcotah is generous.”

The singular coolness, with which the Teton concluded
this audacious proposal, confounded even the
practised trapper. He stared after the retiring form
of the Indian, with an astonishment he did not care
to conceal, nor did he renew his attempt at interpretation,
until the person of Mahtoree was blended
with the cluster of warriors who had so long, and
with so characteristic a patience, awaited his return.

“The Teton chief has spoken very plainly,” the
old man then continued; “he will not give you the
lady, to whom the Lord in Heaven knows you have
no claim, unless it be such as the wolf has to the
lamb. He will not give you the child, you call your
niece; and therein I acknowledge that I am far from
certain he has the same justice on his side. Moreover,
neighbour squatter, he flatly denies your demand
for me, miserable and worthless as I am; nor
do I think he has been unwise in so doing seeing that
I should have many particular reasons against journeying
far in your company. But he makes you an
offer, which it is right and convenient you should
know. The Teton says through me, who am no
more than a mouth-piece, and therein not answerable
for the sin of his words, but he says, as this
good woman is getting past the comely age, it is reasonable
for you to tire of such a wife. He therefore
tells you to turn her out of your lodge, and when it
is empty he will send his own favourite, or rather

she that was his favourite, the “Skipping Fawn,” as
the Siouxes call her, to fill her place. You see,
neighbour, though the Red-skin is so minded as to
keep your property, he is willing to give you wherewithal
to make yourself some return!”

Ishmael listened to these replies to his several demands
with that species of gathering indignation, with
which the dullest tempers mount into the most violent
paroxysms of rage. He even affected to laugh
at the conceit of exchanging his long-tried Esther for
the more flexible support of the youthful Tachechana,
though his voice was hollow and unnatural in
the effort. But Esther was far from giving the proposal
so facetious a reception. Lifting her voice to
its peculiarly audible key, she broke forth, after
catching her breath like one who had been in some
imminent danger of strangulation, as follows—

“Hoity-toity; who set an Indian up for a maker
and breaker of the rights of wedded wives! Does he
think a woman is a beast of the prairie, that she is
to be chased from a village by dog and gun. Let the
bravest squaw of them all come forth and boast of
her doings; can she show such a brood as mine. A
wicked tyrant is that thieving Red-skin, and a bold
rogue I warrant me. He would be captain in-doors
as well as out! An honest woman is no better in his
eyes than one of your broomstick jumpers. And
you, Ishmael Bush, the father of seven sons and so
many comely daughters, to open your sinful mouth,
except to curse him! Would ye disgrace colour, and
family, and nation, by mixing white blood with red,
and would ye be the parent of a race of mules! The
devil has often tempted you, my man, but never before
has he set so cunning a snare as this. Go back
among your children, friend; go, and remember that
you are not a prowling bear, but a Christian man,
and thank God that you ar' a lawful husband!”

The clamour of Esther was anticipated by the judicious

trapper. He had easily foreseen that her
meek temper would overflow at so scandalous a proposal
as repudiation, and he now profited by the
tempest, to retire to a place where he was at least
safe from any immediate violence on the part of her
less excited, but certainly more dangerous husband.
Ishmael, who had made his demands with a stout determination
to enforce them, was diverted by the
windy torrent, like many a more obstinate husband,
from his purpose, and in order to appease a jealousy,
that resembled the fury with which the bear defends
her cubs, was fain to retire to a distance from the
lodge, that was known to contain the unoffending
object of the sudden uproar.

“Let your copper-coloured minx come forth, and
shew her tawney beauty before the face of a woman
who has heard more than one church bell, and seen
a power of real quality,” cried Esther, flourishing her
hand in triumph, as she drove Ishmael and Abiram
before her, like two truant boys, towards their own
encampment. “I warrant me, I warrant me, here is
one who would shortly talk her down! Never think
to tarry here, my men; never think to shut an eye in
a camp, through which the devil walks as openly as
if he were a gentleman, and was sure of his welcome.
Here, you Abner, Enoch, Jesse, where ar' ye gotten
to. Put to, put to; if that weak-minded, soft-feeling
man, your father, eats or drinks again in this neighbourhood,
we shall see him poisoned with the craft
of the Red-skins. Not that I care, I, who comes into
my place, when it is once lawfully empty, but, Ishmael,
I never thought that you, who have had one
woman with a white skin, would find pleasure in
looking on a brazen—ay, that she is copper ar' a
fact; you can't deny it, and I warrant me, brazen
enough is she too!”

Against this ebullition of wounded female pride,
the experienced husband made no other head, than

by an occasional exclamation, which he intended to
be the precursor of a simple asseveration of his own
innocence. The fury of the woman would not be
appeased. She listened to nothing but her own voice,
and consequently nothing was heard but her mandates
to depart.

The squatter had collected his beasts and loaded
his wagons, as a measure of precaution, before proceeding
to the extremity he had contemplated. Esther
consequently found every thing favourable to her
wishes. The young men stared at each other, as
they witnessed the extraordinary excitement of their
mother, but took little interest in an event which,
in the course of their experience, had found so many
parallels. By command of their father, the tents also
were quickly thrown into the vehicles, as a sort of
reprisal for the want of faith in their late ally, and
then the train left the spot, in its usual listless and
sluggish order.

As a formidable division of well armed borderers
protected the rear of the retiring party, the Siouxes
saw it depart without manifesting the smallest evidence
of surprise or resentment. The savage, like
the tiger, rarely makes his attack on an enemy who
expects him; and if the warriors of the Tetons meditated
any hostility, it was in the still and patient
manner with which the feline beasts watch for the
incautious moment in their victims, in order to ensure
the blow. The councils of Mahtoree, however, on
whom so much of the policy of his people depended,
lay deep in the depository of his own thoughts. Perhaps
he rejoiced in so easy a manner of getting rid
of claims so troublesome; perhaps he awaited a fitting
time to exhibit his power; or it even might be, that
matters of so much greater importance were pressing
on his mind, that it had not leisure to devote any of
its faculties to an event of so much indifference.

But it would seem that while Ishmael made such

a concession to the awakened feelings of Esther, he
was far from so easily abandoning his original intentions.
His train followed the course of the river for
a mile, and then it came to a halt on the brow of the
elevated land, and in a place which afforded the necessary
facilities. Here he again pitched his tents,
unharnessed his teams, sent his cattle on the bottom,
and, in short, made all the customary preparations
to pass the night, with the same coolness and deliberation
as though he had not just hurled an irritating
defiance into the very teeth of his dangerous neighbours.

In the mean time the Tetons proceeded to the
more regular business of the hour. A fierce and
savage joy had existed in the camp, from the instant
when it had been announced that their own chief
was returning with the long-dreaded and hated partisan
of their enemies. For many hours the crones of
the tribe had been going from lodge to lodge, in order
to stimulate the tempers of the warriors to such a pass
as might leave but little room for the considerations
of mercy. To one they spoke of a son, whose scalp
was drying in the smoke of a Pawnee lodge. To
another, they enumerated his own scars, his disgraces,
and defeats; with a third, they dwelt on his losses of
skins and horses, and a fourth was reminded of vengeance,
by a significant question, concerning some
flagrant adventure, in which he was known to have
been a sufferer.

By these means the men had been so far excited
as to have assembled, in the manner already related,
though it still remained a matter of doubt how far
they intended to carry their revenge. A variety of
opinions prevailed on the policy of executing their
prisoners, and Mahtoree had suspended the discussions,
in order to ascertain how far the measure might
propitiate or retard his own particular views. Hitherto
the consultations had merely been preliminary,

with a view that each chief might discover the number
of supporters his view of the agitated question
would be likely to obtain, when the important subject
should come before a more solemn council of
the tribe. The moment for the latter had now arrived,
and the preparations, to assemble it, were made
with a dignity and solemnity suited to the momentous
interests of the occasion.

With a refinement in cruelty, that none but an
Indian would have imagined, the place, selected for
this grave deliberation, was immediately about the
post to which the most important of its subjects was
attached. Middleton and Paul were brought in their
bonds, and laid at the feet of the Pawnee; and then
the men began to take their places, according to their
several claims to distinction. As warrior after warrior
approached, he seated himself in the wide circle,
with a mien as composed and thoughtful, as though
his mind were actually in a condition to deal out
justice, tempered, as it should be, with the heavenly
quality of mercy. A place was reserved for three or
four of the principal chiefs, and a few of the oldest
of the women, as withered as age, exposure, hardships,
and lives of savage passions could make them,
thrust themselves into the foremost circle, with a
temerity, to which they were impelled by their insatiable
desire for cruelty, and which nothing, but
their years and their long tried fidelity to the nation,
would have excused.

All, but the chiefs already named, were now in
their places. These had delayed their appearance,
in the vain hope that their own unanimity might
smooth the way to that of their respective factions;
for, notwithstanding the superior influence of Mahtoree,
his power was to be maintained only by constant
appeals to the opinions of his inferiors. As
these important personages at length entered the circle
in a body, their sullen looks and clouded brows,

notwithstanding the time given to consultation, sufficiently
proclaimed the discontent which reigned
among them. The eye of Mahtoree was varying in
its expression, from sudden gleams, that seemed to
kindle with the burning impulses of his soul, to that
cold and guarded steadiness, which was thought more
peculiarly to become a chief in council. He took
his seat, with the studied simplicity of a demagogue;
though the keen and flashing glance, that he immediately
threw around the silent assembly, betrayed
the more predominant temper of a tyrant.

When all were present, an aged warrior lighted the
great pipe of his people, and blew the smoke towards
the four quarters of the heavens. So soon as this
propitiatory offering was made, he tendered it to
Mahtoree, who, in affected humility, passed it to a
gray-headed chief by his side. After the influence
of the soothing weed had been courted by all, a grave
silence succeeded, as if each was not only qualified
to, but actually did, think more deeply on the matters
before them. Then an old Indian arose, and spoke
as follows—

“The eagle, at the falls of the endless river, was
in its egg, many snows after my hand had struck a
Pawnee. What my tongue says, my eyes have seen.
Bohrecheena is very old. The hills have stood longer
in their places, than he has been in his tribe, and the
rivers were full and empty, before he was born; but
where is the Sioux that knows it besides himself?
What he says, they will hear. If any of his words
fall to the ground, they will pick them up and hold
them to their ears. If any blow away in the wind,
my young men, who are very nimble, will catch
them. Now listen. Since water ran and trees grew,
the Sioux has found the Pawnee on his war-path. As
the cougar loves the antelope, the Dahcotah loves his
enemy. When the wolf finds the fawn, does he lie
down and sleep? When the panther sees the doe at

the spring, does he shut his eyes? You know that he
does not. He drinks, too, but it is of blood! A
Sioux is a leaping, panther, a Pawnee is a trembling
deer. Let my children hear me. They will find my
words good. I have spoken.”

A deep guttural exclamation of assent broke from
the lips of all the partisans of Mahtoree, as they listened
to the sanguinary advice from one, who was
certainly among the most aged men of the nation.
That deeply seated love of vengeance, which formed
so prominent a feature in their characters, was gratified
by his metaphorical allusions, and the chief himself
augured favourably of the success of his own
schemes, by the number of supporters, who manifested
themselves to be in favour of the counsels of his
friend. But still unanimity was far from prevailing.
A long and decorous pause was suffered to succeed
the words of the first speaker, in order that all might
duly deliberate on their wisdom, before another chief
took on himself the office of refutation. The second
orator, though past the prime of his days, was far
less aged than the one who had preceded him. He
felt the disadvantage of this circumstance, and endeavoured
to counteract it, as far as possible, by the
excess of his humility.

“I am but an infant,” he commenced, looking furtively
around him, in order to detect how far his
well-established character for prudence and courage
contradicted his assertion. “I have lived with the
woman, since my father has been a man. If my head
is getting gray, it is not because I am old. Some of
the snow, which fell on it while I have been sleeping
on the war-paths, has frozen there, and the hot sun,
near the Osage villages, has not been strong enough
to melt it.” A low murmur was heard, expressive
of admiration for those services to which he thus artfully
alluded. The orator modestly awaited for the
feeling to subside a little, and then he continued, with

increasing energy, as though secretly encouraged by
their commendations. “But the eyes of a young
brave are good. He can see very far. He is a lynx.
Look at me well. I will turn my back, that you may
see both sides of me. Now do you know I am your
friend, for you look on a part that a Pawnee never
yet saw. Now look at my face; not in this seam,
for there your eyes can never see into my spirit. It
is only a hole cut by a Konza. But here is an
opening made by the Wahcondah, through which
you may look into the soul. What am I? A Dahcotah
within and without. You know it. Therefore
hear me. The blood of every creature on the
prairie is red. Who can tell the spot where a Pawnee
was struck, from the place where my young
men took a bison? It is of the same colour. The
Master of Life made them for each other. He
made them alike. But will the grass grow green
where a Pale-face is killed? My young men must
not think that nation is so numerous, it will not miss
a warrior. They call them over often, and say, where
are my sons? If they miss one, they will send into
the prairies to look for him. If they cannot find him,
they will tell their runners to ask for him among the
Siouxes. My brethren, the Big-knives are not fools.
There is a mighty medicine of their nation now
among us; who can tell how loud is his voice, or how
long is his arm?—”

The speech of the orator, who was beginning to
enter into his subject with a suitable degree of
warmth, was cut short by the impatient Mahtoree,
who suddenly arose and exclaimed, in a voice in
which authority was mingled with contempt, and at
the close with a keen tone of irony, also—

“Let my young men lead the evil spirit of the
Pale-faces to the council. My brother shall see his
medicine face to face!”

A death-like and solemn stillness succeeded this

extraordinary interruption. It not only involved a
deep offence against the sacred courtesy of debate,
but the mandate was likely to brave the unknown
power of one of those incomprehensible beings,
whom few Indians were enlightened enough at that
day to regard without reverence, or few hardy enough
to oppose. The subordinates, however, obeyed, and
Obed was led forth from a lodge, mounted on Asinus,
with a ceremony and state which was certainly intended
for derision, but which nevertheless was greatly
enhanced by fear. As they entered the ring, Mahtoree,
who had foreseen and had endeavoured to
anticipate the influence of the Doctor, by bringing
him into contempt, cast an eye around the assembly,
in order to gather his success in the various dark
visages by which he was encircled.

Truly, nature and art had combined to produce
such an effect from the air and appointments of the
naturalist, as might have made him the subject of
wonder in any place. His head had been industriously
shaved after the most approved fashion of
Sioux taste. A gallant scalp-lock, which would probably
have been spared, had the Doctor himself been
consulted in the matter, was all that remained of an
exuberant, and at that particular season of the year,
far from uncomfortable head of hair. Thick coats
of paint had been laid on the naked poll, and certain
fanciful designs, in the same material, had even been
extended into the neighbourhood of the eyes and
mouth, lending to the naturally keen expression of
the former a look of twinkling cunning, and to the
dogmatism of the latter not a little of the grimness
of necromancy. He had been despoiled of his upper
garments, and, in their stead, his body was sufficiently
protected from the cold by a fantastically
painted robe of dressed deer-skin. As if in mockery
of his pursuit, sundry toads, frogs, lizards, butterflies,
etc., all duly prepared to take their places at

some future day, in his own private cabinet, were attached
to the solitary lock on his head, to his ears,
and to various other conspicuous parts of his person.
If, in addition to the effect produced by these quaint
auxiliaries to his costume, we add the portentous and
troubled gleamings of doubt, which rendered his
visage doubly austere, and proclaimed the misgivings
of the worthy Obed's mind, as he beheld his personal
dignity thus prostrated, and what was of far greater
moment in his eyes, himself led forth, as he firmly
believed, to be the victim of some heathenish sacrifice,
the reader will find no difficulty in giving credit
to the sensation of awe, that was excited by his appearance
in a band already more than half-prepared
to worship him as a powerful agent of the evil spirit.

Weucha led Asinus directly into the centre of the
circle, and leaving them together (for the legs of the
naturalist were attached to the beast in such a manner,
that the two animals might be said to be incorporated,
and to form a new order,) he withdrew to
his proper place, gazing at the conjuror, as he retired,
with a wonder and admiration, that was natural to
the groveling dulness of his mind.

The astonishment seemed mutual between the
spectators and the subject of this strange exhibition.
If the Tetons contemplated the mysterious attributes
of the medicine, with awe and fear, the Doctor gazed
on every side of him, with a mixture of quite as many
extraordinary emotions, in which the latter sensation,
however, formed no inconsiderable ingredient. Every
where his eyes, which just at that moment possessed
a secret magnifying quality, seemed to rest on several
dark, savage, and obdurate countenances at once,
from none of which could he extract a solitary gleam
of sympathy or commiseration. At length his wandering
gaze fell on the grave and decent features of
the trapper, who, with Hector at his feet, stood in the
edge of the circle, leaning on that rifle which he had

been permitted, as an acknowledged friend, to resume,
and apparently musing on the events that were likely
to succeed a council that was marked by so many and
such striking ceremonies.

“Venerable venator, or hunter, or trapper,” said
the utterly disconsolate Obed, “I rejoice greatly in
meeting thee again. I fear that the precious time,
which had been allotted me, in order to complete a
mighty labour, is drawing to a premature close, and
I would gladly unburden my mind to one who, if not
a pupil of science, has at least some of the knowledge
which civilization imparts to its meanest subjects.
Doubtless many and earnest enquiries will be made
after my fate, by the learned societies of the world,
and perhaps expeditions will be sent into these regions
to remove any doubts, which may arise on so
important a subject. I esteem myself happy that a
man, who speaks the vernacular, is present, to preserve
the record of my end. You will say that after
a well-spent and glorious life, I died a martyr to
science and a victim to mental darkness. As I expect
to be particularly calm and abstracted in my last
moments, if you add a few details, concerning the
fortitude and scholastic dignity with which I met my
death, it may serve to encourage the future aspirants
for similar honours, and assuredly give offence to no
one. And now, friend trapper, as a duty I owe to
human nature, I will conclude by demanding if all
hope has deserted me, or if any means still exist by
which so much valuable information may be rescued
from the grasp of ignorance, and preserved to the
pages of natural history.”

The old man lent an attentive ear to this melancholy
appeal, and apparently he reflected on every
side of the important question, before he would presume
to answer.

“I take it, friend physicianer,” he at length gravely

replied, “that the chances of life and death, in your
particular case, depend altogether on the will of
Providence, as it may be pleased to manifest it,
through the accursed windings of Indian cunning.
For my own part, I see no great difference in the
main end to be gained, inasmuch as it can matter no
one greatly, yourself excepted, whether you live or
die.”

“Would you account the fall of a corner-stone,
from the foundations of the edifice of learning, a
matter of indifference to contemporaries or to posterity?”
eagerly interrupted the indignant Obed.
“Besides, my aged associate,” he reproachfully
added, “the interest, that a man has in his own existence,
is by no means trifling, however it may be
eclipsed by his devotion to more general and philanthropic
feelings.”

“What I would say is this,” resumed the trapper,
who was far from understanding all the subtle distinctions,
with which his more learned companion so
often saw fit to embellish his discourse; “there is but
one birth and one death to all things, be it hound, or
be it deer; be it red skin, or be it white. Both are
in the hands of the Lord, it being as unlawful for man
to strive to hasten the one, as impossible to prevent
the other. But I will not say that something may
not be done to put the last moment aside, for a while
at least, and therefore it is a question, that any one
has a right to put to his own wisdom, how far he will
go, and how much pain he will suffer, to lengthen
out a time that may have been too long already.
Many a dreary winter and scorching summer has
gone by since I have turned, to the right hand or to
the left, to add an hour to a life that has already
stretched beyond fourscore years. I keep myself as
ready to answer to my name as a soldier at evening
roll-call. In my judgment, if your cases, are left to

Indian tempers, the policy of the Great Sioux will
lead his people to sacrifice you all; nor do I put
much dependence on his seeming love for me; therefore
it becomes a question whether you are ready for
such a journey; and if, being ready, whether this is
not as good a time to start as another. Should my
opinion be asked, thus far will I give it in your favour;
that is to say, it is my belief your life has
been innocent enough, touching any great offences
that you may have committed, though honesty compels
me to add, that I think all you can lay claim
to, on the score of activity in deeds, will not amount
to any thing worth naming in the great account.”

Obed turned a rueful eye on the calm, philosophic
countenance of the other, as he answered with so
discouraging a statement of his case, clearing his
throat, as he did so, in order to conceal the desperate
concern which began to beset his faculties, with
a vestige of that pride, which rarely deserts poor human
nature, even in the greatest emergencies.

“I believe, venerable hunter,” he replied, “considering
the question in all its several hearings, and
assuming that your theory is just, it will be the safest
to conclude that I am not prepared to make so hasty
a departure, and that measures of precaution should
be, forthwith, resorted to.”

“Being in that mind,” returned the deliberate
trapper, “I will act for you as I would for myself;
though as time has begun to roll down the hill with
you, I will just advise that you look to your case
speedily, for it may so happen that your name will
be heard, when quite as little prepared to answer to
it as now.”

With this amicable understanding, the old man
drew back again into the ring, where he stood musing
on the course he should now adopt, with the
singular mixture of decision and resignation that proceeded

from his habits and his humility, and which
united to form a character, in which excessive energy,
and the most meek submission to the will of
Providence, were oddly enough combined.