"That would be but little help to us, you understand," said Floyd, "after they had taken our scalps. No, I think I will close the gates."
"Don't let him waste time talkin'. Shet 'em up now!"
"Ha, dog of the long back," screamed Willimack, "do you come to make a bad heart between the Indians and their white friends? Willimack will drink your blood."
"Ah, no yew won't," replied long Seth, with admirable composure, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and looking keenly at the savage. "Yew ain't so dry as that comes tew. Shet them gates, darn yew! I tell yew not tew lose time!"
Willimack suddenly drew his hatchet and rushed at the imperturbable Yankee, who did not even take his hands from his pockets, but, when the Indian came within reach, planted his moccasined foot in the region of the knife-belt, with a force which sent the Wyandot flying against the side of the stockade, half stunned. The elder Floyd would have helped him up, but Spink demanded of him angrily to desist, and help them to raise the gates, while the negro boys brought out the heavy bars and had them ready to drop into their places. Just as they were about to raise the first gate to its place, the Indian staggered to his feet, and turned to go away.
"Farewell, men of the bad heart," he said. "A deep sorrow has come upon the heart of Willimack. His soul is very sad, because the brother with the gray hair has turned against him."
"Oh, hush up, yew," said the Yankee, releasing his hold on the gate, "and git intew yure corner ag'in."
"No," said Willimack, "I will stay no longer in the place where I have been insulted."
"Yew won't, eh?"
"No; Willimack will go."