“Yaw,” said Jan, “dat ish coot. I pees so mooch hungry as nefer.”
“Ye’ve worked well, old man,” said Ben. “I say thet fur ye. Come, Jule, try yer hand at the cookery ag’in. Don’t make too much fire. Git dry wood. These yer pine branches make too much smoke unless the’r dry. Go up thar by the rocks. Thar’s an old pine cut down thar, and it will make a good fire. I cut it down when I were here before, miss.”
“Vy you ’vraid of too mooch vire, Penn?” asked Jan, looking doubtfully around.
“Ye don’t know the Blackfeet as well as I do, or ye wouldn’t ask the question,” said Ben. “Wet wood makes too much of a smoke, and a Blackfoot brave could see a smoke as fur off as ye could see a mountain.”
“Vell, vat ef he does?”
“Then he would come and sculp ye by the light of yer fire, ef he didn’t make up his mind to roast ye a little fust. Ther’ a pizen, sneakin’, murderin’ set, an’ would make no more of takin’ the sculp of a Dutchman, then I would of skinnin’ a beaver. Thet’s all.”
“Dey very near?” said Jan, looking fearful. “Vy you stay here?”
“We didn’t come out yer to play,” said Ben; “an’ the Blackfoot thet gits my sculp will hev to fight fer it. I’ve a likin’ fer my own ha’r. It growd thar, an’ thar it’s got to stay until things git so mixed up thet I kain’t raise a hand to fight fer it. I’m goin’ to make this yer place a fort before long.”
“How you do dat, Penn?”
“Never mind. I’ve no doubt the Blackfeet will nose us out ’fore we quit, an’ when they do, we’ve got to fight. I count you good fer three Injuns. I’m good fer ten, and Jule will wipe out eight. So you see they must bring down twenty-two to hev any left to do the sculpin’.”