"You surely do not mean that you are here with your own consent?"
"Sartain. S'pose no want to come; am no come. You t'ink Thousandacres' b'ys catch Susquesus in woods, and he don't want to? Be sure, winter come, and summer come. Be sure, gray hair come a little. Be sure Trackless get ole, by-'m-bye; but he moccason leave no trail yet!"
"As I cannot understand why you should first escape, and then wish to come back, I must beg you to explain yourself. Let me know all that has passed, Sureflint—how it has passed, and why it has passed. Tell it in your own way, but tell it fully."
"Sartain—why no tell? No harm; all good—somet'ing capital! Nebber hab better luck."
"You excite my curiosity, Sureflint; tell the whole story at once, beginning at the time when you slipped off, and carrying it down to the moment of your arrival here."
Hereupon, Susquesus turned on me a significant look, drew his pipe from his belt, filled and lighted it, and began to smoke with a composure that was not easily disturbed. As soon as assured that his pipe was in a proper state, however, the Indian quietly began his story.
"Now listen, you hear," he said. "Run away, 'cause no good to stay here, and be prisoner—dat why."
"But you are a prisoner, as it is, as well as myself, and, by your statement, a prisoner with your own consent."
"Sartain—nebber hab been prisoner, won't be prisoner, if don't want to. S'pose shot, den can't help him; but in woods, Injin nebber prisoner, 'less lazy or drunk. Rum make great many prisoner."
"I can believe all this—but tell me the story. Why did you go off at first?"