“He was stuffing you, captain.”
“Stuffing me! I don’t understand,” said the captain, puzzled.
“He saw that you knew very little of America, and he practised a little on your credulity—isn’t that the word?”
“How do I know but you are doing the same now? Probably you want to give me a favourable idea of your country.”
“I only want you to judge it correctly, captain. Why, there ain’t no more danger of being scalped in New York than in London.”
“I presume not, in New York, but I am speaking of the neighbourhood of New York.”
“So am I. I’ll tell you what, captain, if you can find me a case of a man that’s been scalped within five hundred miles of New York within the last fifty years, I’ll give you my share of the reward. Of course if it’s in Canada, it don’t count.”
“I can’t accept any such wager. I have no means of proving it, even if it is so.”
By this time they had descended the hill, and were on the borders of the mining settlement. They had now attracted the attention of the miners, and when the prisoner was recognised there went up an angry shout, and a band of swarthy, bearded men advanced menacingly to meet them.
“Give him to us!” they cried. “Give up the murderer! We will make short work of him!”