“Ha’f-breed? Ha’f-breed? You mean ha’f-Injun, Mars’ Jack? No, suh, he ain’t no ha’f-breed, he ain’t. He’s quality, sure. He’s got de littlest hands and feet I ever see’d on a man. He ain’t no half-strainer, he ain’t.” Words, accent, and intonation were all strange to the girl; she understood only that the man was speaking of her and that his tones were friendly.
The other’s answer came promptly. “Oh! Yes! He’s of good stock, all right,” he said. “But confound it, who is he? And where in thunder did he come from? Was he with that Indian or was he trying to get away from him? And what in thunder did he come bounding out of those bushes for just in time to stop a bullet? I wish he’d wake up and tell us about himself.”
Cato’s voice came again. “He sure do look mighty white, Mars’ Jack,” he commented. “You reckon he gwine die?”
“Die nothing! The wound isn’t anything. But he’s lost a lot of blood and he’s got to be looked after. Confound it! It’s bad enough to have to take charge of this wagon without having to look out for a fool boy into the bargain.”
A fool boy! Indignation swelled in the girl’s bosom. A fool boy, indeed. What right had he——
But the voice went on and she listened. “Confound those infernal fools that had to go shooting down an Indian just because he was an Indian.”
Cato’s reply came slowly. “You sure dat Injun gem’man didn’t mean no harm, Mars’ Jack?” he questioned, doubtfully.
“Mean any harm! Why, he had made the peace sign and had dropped his rifle. It was sheer murder to shoot him, and I’m mighty glad he took his vengeance before he died. But I’ll have the dickens and all of a time explaining to the chiefs at Girty’s Town.”
“Girty’s Town! Whar dat, Mars’ Jack?”
“That’s a Shawnee village just ahead here. There’s no way around it and we’ve got to go through it.”