“Well, Leather-Stocking,” returned Billy, facing the prisoner with a freedom and familiarity that utterly disregarded the presence of the court, “as you are on the subject it may be that you've no—”
“Go on with your examination, Mr. District Attorney.”
That gentleman eyed the familiarity between his witness and the prisoner with manifest disgust, and indicated to the court that he was done.
“Then you didn't feel frightened, Mr. Kirby?” said the counsel for the prisoner.
“Me! no,” said Billy, casting his eyes oven his own huge frame with evident self-satisfaction; “I'm not to be skeared so easy.”
“You look like a hardy man; where were you born, sir?”
“Varmount State; 'tis a mountaynious place, but there's a stiff soil, and it's pretty much wooded with beech and maple.”
“I have always heard so,” said Mr. Lippet soothingly. “You have been used to the rifle yourself in that country.”
“I pull the second best trigger in this county. I knock under to Natty Bumppo, there, sin' he shot the pigeon.”
Leather-Stocking raised his head, and laughed again, when he abruptly thrust out a wrinkled hand, and said: