“Well, he had better bring a good many friends if he intends to try that,” said Mark, shaking his head in a very threatening manner. “I’ll take Rock and Dash and whip his whole tribe. How long before dinner will be ready, mother?”
For an answer to this question he was referred to the cook. Now, Aunt Martha was an old and favorite servant, who had somehow got it into her head that she had a perfect right to grumble at any one, from her master down to the smallest pickaninny on the plantation. Having recovered from her fright, she was scolding at an alarming rate over the loss of her fine dinner, and for want of some better object upon which to vent her spite she opened upon Mark the moment he entered the kitchen.
Being unable to obtain any satisfactory replies to his questions, he walked off whistling to drown the clatter of the cook’s tongue, and as he went down the steps he heard her say to herself:
“Dat ar is a monstrous bad boy. He’s boun’ to be de def of all us white folks.”
At the end of an hour Mark was again summoned to dinner, which this time passed off without interruption. Aunt Martha had recovered her good nature, and sought to restore herself to favor by stepping down from her high position as head cook, and condescending to wait upon “young mass’r,” whose plate she kept bountifully supplied.
When Mark returned to the shop after eating his dinner, he noticed that an unusual silence reigned in the Indian camp. Not a yell, or a song, or even the bark of a dog came from the woods, which were so still that Mark almost believed them to be deserted.
As he could not help feeling somewhat uneasy over what had been said in regard to the savage coming back with re-enforcements, he kept his eye turned in the direction of the camp, and presently discovered a gray streak moving through the cotton-field.
As it approached he saw that it was an Indian; and when he reached the fence Mark recognized the young wrestler, who appeared to be intensely excited about something. He breathed hard after his rapid run, his eyes had a wild look in them, and he was in so great a hurry to communicate the object of his visit that he began shouting to Mark as soon as he came within speaking distance.
He might as well have kept silent, however, for he talked principally in his native tongue, and Mark could not understand that. Reaching the fence, he cleared it at a bound, and running up to Mark, who stood looking at him in astonishment, exclaimed:
“Mil-la-la, you white boy! mil-la-la you, quick!”