“Hold your holt, my snarvilerous yaller prairie dog!” cried Sneak, inexpressibly amused.
“Let go my ear, I say!” cried Joe, still trotting round, with both hands grasping the Indian’s wrist. “Mr. Glenn! Mr. Glenn!” continued Joe, “he’s pinching a hole through my ear! Shoot him down, shoot him down. There’s my gun, standing against the wall—but its not loaded! Take my knife—oh, he’s tearing my ear off!” When the Indian thought he was sufficiently punished, he led him back to his seat, and relinquished his hold. He then resumed his own seat, and composedly turning his eyes to Mary, seemed to desire her to proceed with the narration. She did so, but when she spoke of her attempt to escape in the prairie, of the young chief’s noble conduct, and his admiration of her ring (and she pulled off her glove and exhibited it as she spoke,) he again rose from his seat, and walking, apparently unconsciously, to where she reclined upon her father’s knees, fixed his eyes upon the jewel in a most mysterious manner. He no longer dwelt upon the maiden’s sweet tones. He did nothing but gaze at the ring.
“He’s got a notion to steal that ring!” said Joe, with a sneer.
“Shot your mouth!” said Sneak, observing that Mary looked reproachfully at Joe, and paused.
“Don’t talk that way, Joe!” said the offended girl. “If he wanted it, why did he not take it when I was his prisoner? I will freely let him have it now,” she continued, slipping it off from her finger.
“No! keep it, child—it is a family ring,” said Roughgrove.
“I will lend it to him—I know he will give it me again,” she continued, placing it in the extended hand of the young chief, who thanked her with his eyes, and resumed his seat. He now seemed to disregard every thing that was said or done, and only gazed at the ring, which he held first in one hand and then in the other, with the sparkling diamond uppermost. Sometimes he would press his forehead with his hand and cover his eyes, and then gaze at the ring again. Then staring wildly around, and slightly starting, he would bite his fingers to ascertain whether the scene was reality or a dream. Finally, giving vent to a piteous sigh, while a tear ran down his stained cheek, he placed his elbows upon his knees, and, bending forward, seemed to muse over some event of the past, which the jewel before him had called to remembrance.
Glenn narrowly watched every look and motion of the young chief, and when Mary finished the account of her capture, he introduced the subject of the lost child, Mary’s brother, that Roughgrove had spoken about before starting in pursuit of the war-party.
“I can remember him!” said Mary, “and mother, too—they are both in heaven now—poor brother! poor mother!”
The young chief raised his head quickly, and staring at the maiden’s face, seemed to regard her tears and her features with an interest similar to that of a child when it beholds a rare and curious toy.