“Ugh!” was the monosyllabic response of the Wyandot, as he stepped aside and, leaning upon his gun, fixed his black eyes upon a distant part of the stockade.
Farley had not yet had his say, however; and there was sincere admiration in his voice and manner, as he resumed:
“You’re a dang sight purtier ’n I ’xpected you to be, little gal—you are, by Katherine! As near’s I could git it from Ross Douglas’s ravin’s, you was a kind of red-headed Injin squaw—somethin’ like the Winnebago jade that wanted to marry me. You see, miss, the women’s alluz been after me——”
“Joe—Joe!” Ross cried, smiling in spite of himself.
“It’s a fact, as sure’s my name is Joseph Peregoy——” the woodman began.
But John Douglas impatiently interrupted him with:
“This is no time to recount your love affairs, my friend. After you have reached the other side of the river, you may boast to your heart’s content. Let’s be off.”
With the words, he started toward the gate of the dilapidated palisade, the others of the party closely following him. Farley grumbled as he went along:
“Ol’ Pucker Face is as imperdent as a squawkin’ catbird—but he’s right. Ding-it-all-to-dangnation! When will I learn not to let my limber tongue git the best o’ me?”