“Ay, mayhap it do look a little wild or so,” continued the steward; “but to my judgment, squire, it's the best image I've made, seeing it's most like the man himself; well, that's Natty Bumppo, who shot this here painter, that killed that there dog, who would have eaten or done worse to them here young ladies.”
“And what the devil does all this mean?” cried Richard, impatiently.
“Mean!” echoed Benjamin; “it is as true as the Boadishey's log book—” He was interrupted by the sheriff, who put a few direct questions to him, that obtained more intelligible answers, by which means he became possessed of a tolerably correct idea of the truth, When the wonder, and we must do Richard the justice to say, the feelings also, that were created by this narrative, had in some degree subsided, the sheriff turned his eyes again on his journal, where more inexplicable hieroglyphics met his view.
“What have we here?” he cried; “two men boxing! Has there been a breach of the peace? Ah, that's the way, the moment my back is turned—.”
“That's the Judge and young Master Edwards,” interrupted the steward, very cavalierly.
“How! 'Duke fighting with Oliver! what the devil has got into you all? More things have happened within the last thirty-six hours than in the preceding six months.”
“Yes, it's so indeed, squire,” returned the steward, “I've known a smart chase, and a fight at the tail of it, where less has been logged than I've got on that there slate. Howsomever, they didn't come to facers, only passed a little jaw fore and aft.”
“Explain! explain!” cried Richard; “it was about the mines, ha! Ay, ay, I see it, I see it; here is a man with a pick on his shoulder. So you heard it all, Benjamin?”
“Why, yes, it was about their minds, I believe, squire,” returned the steward; “and, by what I can learn, they spoke them pretty plainly to one another. Indeed, I may say that I overheard a small matter of it myself, seeing that the windows was open, and I hard by. But this here is no pick, but an anchor on a man's shoulder; and here's the other fluke down his back, maybe a little too close, which signifies that the lad has got under way and left his moorings.”
“Has Edwards left the house?”