"A bullet struck you?" repeated the Lieutenant, in astonishment. "Where did it hit you?"
"When dat gun went off, sunkin' struck me slap right above my ear, and I fought I felt it flatten dar."
"Fudge! you are not hurt. But I say, Oonomoo," resumed the soldier, with a more determined air, "you have saved me, and I want to grasp your hand for it."
[Illustration: "You have saved me, and I want to grasp your hand for it.">[
The Huron extended his hand, but it hung limp in that of the ardent young man. It was easy to see that the iterated thanks were distasteful to him. He said nothing until the jubilant Cato also made a spring at it as soon as it was released.
"Nebber mind—nottin'—Oonomoo do nottin'."
"Hebens, golly! yes, you did. If you hadn't come jes' as you did, I'd had to fout de Injines all alone, single-handed, widout any feller to help me, and, like as not, would've got hurt."
"Can't hurt Cato's head—hard," said the Huron, dropping his hand upon the superabundant wool of the negro, and allowing it to bound up as if an elastic cushion were beneath it. "Make nice scalp—Shawnee like it," added the Indian, still toying with it.