“It’s somebody, after all,” said Sneak, giving the frozen foot a kick.
“Ain’t you ashamed to do that?” said Joe, knitting his brows.
“He’s nothing more than a stone, now. Why didn’t he holler when you stuck your knife into him?” replied Sneak.
“Dig him up, that we may see who he is,” said Glenn.
“I’d rather not touch him,” said Joe.
“You’re a fool!” said Sneak. “Stand off, and let me at him—I’ll soon see who he is.” Sneak threw down his maskrats, and with his spear and knife soon extricated the body, which he handled as unceremoniously as he would have done a log of wood. “Dod rot your skin!” he exclaimed, when he brushed the snow from the man’s face. He then threw down the body with great violence.
“Oh don’t!” cried Joe, while the cold chills ran up his back.
“Who is it?” asked Glenn.
“It’s that copper-snake, traitor, skunk, water-dog, lizard-hawk, horned frog—”
“Who do you mean?” interrupted Glenn.