“Dod rot your cowardly skin!” said Sneak, after looking at the approaching form and turning to Joe, “how dare you to be frightened at sich a thing as that—a female woman!”
“It was not me—it was my pony, you great—”
“What?” asked Sneak, sharply, turning abruptly round, as they paused at the gate.
“You great long buffalo tapeworm!” said Joe, alighting on the side of the pony opposite to his quarrelsome companion, and then going forward and opening the gate in silence.
“What brings thee hither at this late hour, Mary?” inquired Glenn, on recognizing the ferryman’s daughter.
“Nothing—only—I”—stammered the abashed girl, who had expected only to see our hero and his man.
“Speak out, lass, if you have any thing important to say,” remarked Boone, when they entered the inclosure, placing his hand encouragingly on the girl’s head.
Mary still hesitated, and Boone was no little puzzled to conjecture rightly what it was she intended to impart; but he was convinced it must be something of no ordinary nature that would induce a maiden of reputed timidity to leave her father’s hut at a late hour of the night.
“Now tell me, Mary, what it was you wished to say,” remarked Glenn, addressing her in a playful tone, when they were seated in the house, and a lamp suspended against the wall was lighted.
“I did not expect to find Mr. Boone and Sneak with you—and now—”