"What did de big Injun do to you, Bushie?" inquired Burl, now lowering the knife.
"He didn't do nothing to me but look ugly at me, when this one would be toting me on his back across the creeks and up the hills."
"Which one uf de varmints was it, Bushie, dat gobbled you up frum de corn-fiel' fence, back yander?"
"That one," with a look toward the dead savage. "This one," with a nod toward the young brave, "didn't want him to do it, I know he didn't, because he walked on by talking to the other and shaking his head. And when the other got tired of toting me and wanted to kill me, then it was that this one ran up and took me away from him. Then he led me by the hand till I got tired, then toted me on his back till I got rested. And that's the way he was doing all the time. And when I got so tired and sleepy I couldn't walk any longer, he took me up in his arms and carried me so far, I don't know how far, through the dark woods. Then when they stopped he gave me something to eat and made me a bed of pawpaw limbs, and laid me down to sleep and slept by my side. And all the time he wouldn't let the others come a-nigh me. And see here, Burl, what he gave me," flourishing his old stone hatchet with a new handle before the eyes of the still incredulous Burlman Reynolds. "And this, too," displaying his little coon-skin cap, all splendid with the glory of the war-bird. And with these visible proofs to back it, Bushie wound up his eloquent little appeal.
"Did de young Injun shoot de eagle down yesterday whar you got dem fedders?"
"Yes, and put them in my cap this morning."
The black hunter glanced over his shoulder to get a glimpse of the young brave's lower limbs and reässure himself that this was the one who had left the slender foot-prints along the trail, side by side with which had always appeared those of the boy. Slowly then rose the victor to his feet, and like a black Colossus, standing astride his prostrate foe, remained for many moments profoundly silent, as if lost in thought, and uncertain, under circumstances so unexpected and peculiar, what course he should pursue.
Never, since that unhappy night two years ago, had he lifted his hand against an Indian; but that remembrance of his master's cruel death, with the wail of the widowed mother and her fatherless child, had risen before him, making his aim the surer, his blow the heavier. But here was a new experience, calling for a new course of action. True was it that his old master had been inhumanly treated by this people, but no less true that the life of his young master had been preserved, in a signal manner, too, by one of the same hated race. If he had owed vengeance for the first, did he not now owe gratitude for the last? If, up to this moment, he had been swift to meet the claims of vengeance, should he not now be as ready to meet the claims of gratitude? The lion of him was fast going to sleep within him; the Newfoundland of him was fast becoming awake. And looking down at the young brave between his feet, Burl attentively scanned him.