“I known he is as much savage as any Shawnee I have ever yet seen.”
“Wal, sir, that chap is my brother, and if you’ve got any differences to settle he’ll give you the chance, but if you undertake any trick, here’s his brother, and there’ll be a dead man in your tracks in two minutes and a half.”
“I beg your pardon, Abe; I had no idea who the man was. A friend of yours is a friend of mine, no matter who or what he is. Forgive me, will you? Your hand on it?”
With true backwoodsman frankness and good nature, Abe Moffat extended his bony palm, and a genial smile lit up his countenance.
CHAPTER X.
COLONEL CLARK AND HIS RANGERS.
At this moment the subject of their conversation, Tom Moffat, made his appearance at the entrance. Upon seeing that he was a white man, he was admitted at once. He strode in with that independent, careless air so common to his race, paying no attention to the inquisitive looks that were cast upon him.
The first person who met him was Edwards, who had just returned from the funeral ceremonies referred to.
“Why, what brings you here?” he asked, with a smile.
“My legs, I believe. How are you thriving, George?”
“Very well. How does it go with you?”