“Ain’t you ashamed, wimmen of Wyoming?” cried Aunt Polly Carter, marching boldly up to the tall savage who distributed the war-paint. “What are ye skeered at? I never expected to have the mark of Cain sat on my forehead by a wild Injun; but if I must, I must! Here, Mr. Copperhead, make it good and black. I don’t want no mistake, if any of your chiefs should take a notion for more scalps; and I say, Mr. Injun, hold your head down here, while I whisper something. If you could just put an extra dab on, to let your men folks know I’m engaged, if they should want to marry any of our wimmen, I’d be much obleeged to you.”
The Indian, who did not comprehend a word of all this, crossed his blackened stick on her cheek, gave her a push, and was ready for the next trembling creature that presented herself. As Aunt Polly took her place among the marked women, a little boy pulled her by the dress, and whispered that he had just seen Gineral Washington with an Injun on his back.
“Gineral Washington—my hoss—you don’t say so?”
“Yes, Aunt Polly, his own self, with a big Injun a-riding him.”
“He shan’t ride him out of the fort, anyhow,” exclaimed Polly. “Captain—Captain Walter Butler—I call on you to help me get my hoss back. One of them ’ere red fellers has stole Gineral Washington right afore my two eyes.”
“I am afraid you will have to buy him back,” replied Butler, laughing. “What can you give?”
“Give! I shan’t give nothing for what’s my own now I tell you.”
“Then, I am afraid, you and the General will have to part.”
The savages began to march out of the fort, and Aunt Polly followed in hot haste.
“Captain! captain!” she shrieked, “make the bargain for me—do; that’s a good soul!”