“And I feel weak—very weak—but it is with joy!” said Roughgrove.
“And I have observed it, too,” said Boone. “Get in the sled; we will pull you along till your strength returns.”
“I will be able to use my gun when I meet the foe,” said the old man, getting into the sled.
The party set forward again, guided by the Indian, and in high spirits. The consciousness that Mary was in safety removed a weight from the breasts of all; and, as they ran along, many a light jest and pleasant repartee lessened the weariness of the march. Even Joe smiled once or twice when Boone, in a mock heroic manner alluded to his exploits among the wolves.
“Blast me,” said Joe, when Sneak mentioned a few cases of equivocal courage as an offset to Boone’s compliments, “blast me, if I haven’t killed more Indians than any of you, since I have been in this plagued country.”
“True—that is, your musket has,” said Boone.
“Joe can fight sometimes,” said Glenn, smiling.
“I’ll be hanged if I haven’t always fought, when there was any fighting going on,” said Joe, reproachfully.
“Yes, and he’ll fight again, as manfully as any of us,” said Boone.
“Dod—why, what are you holding back for so hard?” said Sneak, remarking that Joe at that instant seemed to be much excited, and, instead of going forward, actually brought the whole party to a model ate walk by his counter exertion.