"Who can this chap be?" asked O'Hara of his companion.
"Renegade—bad white man—Girty—white chief."
"Whew! I see how it is now. That's the dog that hung around the settlers on the night of the storm, and got fired at a dozen times."
"Why no killed—no hurt?"
"We didn't know who he was, and all shot at his breast."
"Ugh! no hurt him, then."
"No, for, they say, the dog often wears a bullet-proof plate over his breast, and his life has, more than once, been saved by it. He's a brave man, for all he's such an inhuman brute; for who would dare to sit and let us fire agin and agin at him, when it was just as likely we'd fire at his head as at his breast? It was more of an accident than any thing else that we didn't kill him."
"Bad man—kill women and children," said Oonamoo.
"No one disputes that. What a pity we didn't know him when we first set eyes on him. I shouldn't wonder now if he's been fooling Lew, as well as us. My gracious! hasn't the boy used his pegs along here?" exclaimed O'Hara, again looking at the ground.
"No catch him," said the Huron. "No Injun run like him. Tracks turn round pretty soon."