"Such has been their wish, and I asked permission of the Bureau at Washington, to permit them to come. It costs Uncle Sam $50 or a $100 more than it otherwise might, but such a visit will do all the warriors of the West a million of dollars of good; no men honor right and justice more than redskins, though it's in their own fashion."
"I am sure Uncle Sam has acted no more than righteously, as I hope he always may act as respects these people. Susquesus is an old friend of mine, and I will lead you to him."
"And who in natur' be you?" demanded Holmes, his curiosity starting off on a new track.
"Who am I?—You shall know who I am," answered uncle Ro, removing his wig, an action that I imitated on the spot—"I am Roger Littlepage, the late trustee of this estate, and this is Hugh Littlepage, its owner." Old Holmes was good pluck in most matters; of far better stuff at the bottom, than the sneaking, snivelling, prating demagogue at his side; but by this discovery he was dumfounded! He looked at my uncle, then he looked at me; after which, he fastened a distressed and inquiring gaze on Shabbakuk. As for the Indians, notwithstanding their habitual self-command, a common "hugh!" was uttered among them, when they saw two men, as it might be, thus scalping themselves. Uncle Ro was excited, and his manner was, in the last degree, theatrical, as with one hand he removed his cap, and with the other his wig; holding the last, with an extended arm, in the direction of the Indians. As a red-man is rarely guilty of any act of rudeness, unless he means to play the brute in good earnest, it is possible that the Chippewa toward whom the hand which held the wig was extended, mistook the attitude for an invitation to examine that curious article, for himself. It is certain he gently forced it from my uncle's grasp, and, in the twinkling of an eye, all the savages were gathered round it, uttering many but low and guarded expressions of surprise. Those men were all chiefs, and they restrained their astonishment at this point. Had there been any of the ignoble vulgar among them, there is little doubt that the wig would have passed from hand to hand, and been fitted to a dozen heads, already shaved to receive it.
CHAPTER XVIII.
"The Gordon is gude in a hurry,
An' Campbell is steel to the bane,
An' Grant, an' Mackenzie, an' Murray,
An' Cameron will truckle to name."
—Hogg.
The interruption of this scene came from old Holmes, who cried to his companion, on the high key in which it was usual for him to speak: