“What do you fellers say to all this twaddle? Any of you believe it?”
Uncle Dick, whom I had left whetting his knife on the stones of the Davis fireplace, gave a cackling laugh and answered:
“Believe it? No! But it’s fun to hear him splutter.”
The men smiled grimly. They had held back from affronting their neighbor’s cousin. They looked upon Dale much as they looked on Baby Kirst when he came to the settlement and whimpered because he could not find ripe berries to pick. They were deciding that Dale was mentally irresponsible; only his malady took a different twist than did Baby’s. He was an Indian-lover instead of hater. Dale’s dark face flushed purple with anger. By an effort he controlled himself and said:
“All right. You men want a fight. I’m afraid you’ll have it. But I tell you that if Dunmore would call off that dog of a Connolly at Fort Pitt I could go among the Ohio Indians and make a peace which would last.”
“How about the Injuns being willing for us to go down into the Kentucky country?” spoke up Moulton.
“If you want peace with the Indian, you must let him keep a place to hunt and live in. He can’t live if you take away his hunting-grounds.”
“Then let’s take ’em away so they’ll die out tarnation fast,” cried Elijah Runner.
Drawing himself up and speaking with much dignity, Dale said:
“I am sorry for any of you men who came out here to make homes if you will let a few Indian-killers, who never make homes, spoil your chances for getting ahead.”