Scud. Stand off—what are ye?
Pete. Mas'r Clusky.
M'Closky. Save me—save me! I can go no farther. I heard voices.
Scud. Who's after you?
M'Closky. I don't know, but I feel it's death! In some form, human, or wild beast, or ghost, it has tracked me through the night. I fled; it followed. Hark! there it comes—it comes—don't you hear a footstep on the dry leaves?
Scud. Your crime has driven you mad.
M'Closky. D'ye hear it—nearer—nearer—ah! [Wahnotee rushes on, and at M'Closky, L. H.]
Scud. The Injiun! by thunder.
Pete. You'se a dead man, Mas'r Clusky—you got to b'lieve dat.
M'Closky. No—no. If I must die, give me up to the law; but save me from the tomahawk. You are a white man; you'll not leave one of your own blood to be butchered by the red-skin?