University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

Mingo retired from the conference rather chap-fallen. He
was not so well satisfied with the result of his communication.
He had some hope to commend himself more than ever to his
youthful master by the zeal and vigilance which he had striven to
display. Disappointed in this hope, he was still further mortified
to perceive how little deference was shown him by one, whose
youthful judgment he hoped to direct, and of whose inexperience
he had possibly some hope to take advantage. He loved to display
his authority, and sometimes seemed absolutely to fancy
himself the proprietor, whose language of command he had habituated
himself to employ; on the present occasion, he made his
way from the presence of his master with no complacent feelings,
and his displeasure vented itself very unequivocally upon a favourite
hound who lay at the foot of the outer steps, and whom he
kicked off with a savage satisfaction, and sent howling to his
kennel. A boy coming to him with a message from the kitchen,
was received with a smart application of his wagon whip, and
made to follow the example, if he did not exactly imitate the peculiar
music of the hound. Mingo certainly made his exit in a
rage. Half an hour after, he might have been seen, mounted on
his marsh tacky, making tracks for the “Red Gulley,” determined,
if he was not suffered to expel the intruders, at least, to
show them that it was in his power, during their stay, to diminish
very considerably the measure of their satisfaction. His wrath
—like that of all consequential persons who feel themselves in the
wrong, yet lack courage to be right—was duly warmed by nursing;
and, pregnant with terrible looks and accents, he burst
upon the little encampment at “Red Gulley,” in a way that “was
a caution” to all evil doers!

The squatters had only raised one simple habitation of poles,
and begun a second which adjoined it. The first was covered in
with bushes, bark and saplings; the second was slightly advanced,
and the hatchet lay before it, in waiting for the hand by

which it was to be completed. The embers of a recent fire were
strewed in front of the former, and a lean cur—one of those gaunt,
far sighted, keen nosed animals which the Indians employed;
dock tailed, short haired, bushy eyed—lay among the ashes, and
did not offer to stir at the appearance of the terror-breathing
Mingo. Still, though he moved not, his keen eyes followed the
movements of the Driver with as jealous a glance as those of his
owner would have done; while the former alighted from his
horse, peered around the wigwam, and finally penetrated it.
Here he saw nobody, and nothing to reward his scrutiny. Reappearing
from the hut, he hallooed with the hope of obtaining
some better satisfaction, but his call was unanswered. The dog
alone raised his head, looked up at the impatient visitor, and, as
if satisfied with a single glance, at once resumed his former luxurious
position. Such stolidity, bad enough in an Indian, was
still more impertinent in an Indian dog; and, forgetting every
thing but his consequence, and the rage with which he had set
out from home, Mingo, without more ado, laid his lash over the
animal with no measured violence of stroke. It was then that
he found an answer to his challenge. A clump of myrtles opened
at a little distance behind him, and the swarthy red cheeks of
an Indian man appeared through the aperture, to which his voice
summoned the eyes of the assailant.

“You lick dog,” said the owner, with accents which were rather
soft and musical than stern, “dog is good, what for you lick dog?”

Such a salutation, at the moment, rather startled the imperious
driver; not that he was a timid fellow, or that his wrath had in the
least degree abated; but that he was surprised completely. Had
the voice reached him from the woods in front, he would have
been better prepared for it; but, coming from the rear, his imagination
made it startling, and increased its solemnity. He turned
at the summons, and, at the same moment, the Indian, making
his way through the myrtles, advanced toward the negro. There
was nothing in his appearance to awaken the apprehensions of
the latter. The stranger was small and slight of person, and
evidently beyond the middle period of life. Intemperance, too,
the great curse of the Indian who has long been a dweller in contact
with the Anglo-Saxon settler—(the French, par parenthese,

seem to have always civilized the Indian without making him a
drunkard)—had made its ravages upon his form, and betrayed itself
in every lineament of his face. His step, even while he approached
the negro, was unsteady from the influence of liquor;
and as all these signs of feebleness became obvious to the eye of
Mingo, his courage, and with it his domineering insolence of character,
speedily returned to him.

“Lick dog!” he exclaimed, as he made a movement to the
Catawba, and waved his whip threateningly, “lick dog, and lick
Indian too.”

“Lick Indian—get knife!” was the quiet answer of the savage,
whose hand, at the same instant, rested upon the horn handle of
his couteau de chasse, where it stuck in the deerskin belt that
girdled his waist.

“Who's afeard?” said Mingo, as he clubbed his whip and
threw the heavy loaded butt of it upon his shoulder. The slight
frame of the Indian moved his contempt only; and the only circumstance
that prevented him from instantly putting his threat
into execution, was the recollection of that strange interest which
his master had taken in the squatters, and his positive command
that they should not be ill treated or expelled. While he hesitated,
however, the Catawba gave him a sufficient excuse, as he
fancied, for putting his original intention into execution. The
threatening attitude, partial advance of the foe, together with the
sight of the heavy handled whip reversed and hanging over him,
had, upon the mind of the savage, all the effect of an absolute
assault. He drew his knife in an instant, and flinging himself
forward to the feet of the negro, struck an upright blow with his
weapon, which would have laid the entrails of his enemy open
to the light, but for the promptitude of the latter, who, receding
at the same instant, avoided and escaped the blow. In the next
moment, levelling his whip at the head of the stooping Indian, he
would most probably have retorted it with fatal effect, but for an
unlooked for interruption. His arms were both grappled by some
one from behind, and, for the perilous moment, effectually prevented
from doing any harm. With some difficulty, he shook off
the last comer, who, passing in front, between the hostile parties,
proved to be an Indian woman.