“And what should I be doing with scholars' tools? I want no pens or paper, not knowing the use of either; and I keep none. No, no, I'll bring the scalps into the village, squire, and you can make out the order on one of your law-books, and it will be all the better for it. The deuce take this leather on the neck of the dog, it will strangle the old fool. Can you lend me a knife, squire?”
Hiram, who seemed particularly anxious to be on good terms with his companion, unhesitatingly complied. Natty cut the thong from the neck of the hound, and, as he returned the knife to its owner, carelessly remarked:
“'Tis a good bit of steel, and has cut such leather as this very same, before now, I dare say.”
“Do you mean to charge me with letting your hounds loose?” exclaimed Hiram, with a consciousness that disarmed his caution.
“Loose!” repeated the hunter—“I let them loose myself. I always let them loose before I leave the hut.”
The ungovernable amazement with which Mr. Doolittle listened to this falsehood would have betrayed his agency in the liberation of the dogs, had Natty wanted any further confirmation; and the coolness and management of the old man now disappeared in open indignation.
“Look you here, Mr. Doolittle,” he said, striking the breech of his rifle violently on the ground; “what there is in the wigwam of a poor man like me, that one like you can crave, I don't know; but this I tell you to your face, that you never shall put foot under the roof of my cabin with my consent, and that, if you harbor round the spot as you have done lately, you may meet with treatment that you will little relish.”
“And let me tell you, Mr. Bumppo,” said Hiram, retreating, however, with a quick step, “that I know you've broke the law, and that I'm a magistrate, and will make you feel it too, before you are a day older.”
“That for you and your law, too,” cried Natty, snap ping his fingers at the justice of the peace; “away with you, you varmint, before the devil tempts me to give you your desarts. Take care, if I ever catch your prowling face in the woods agin, that I don't shoot it for an owl.”
There is something at all times commanding in honest indignation, and Hiram did not stay to provoke the wrath of the old hunter to extremities. When the intruder was out of sight, Natty proceeded to the hut, where he found all quiet as the grave. He fastened his dogs, and tapping at the door, which was opened by Edwards, asked;