Seeing that the negro made no motion toward halting, the trapper, with a bound, cleared the distance between them, and grasped him by the collar.
“What’s the matter? What ye runnin’ so for? Ye needn’t be so all-fired scart; I ain’t an Injun, but a full blooded white man, an’ a hansum one, at thet. Jist down brakes, an’ ease up a leetle on yer speed!”
“Hol—hold on, sah—I mean, let go!” roared the darkey. “Dar’s more’n ten hundred Injuns back yender, an’ dis chile hain’t any notion to lose his sculp. It’s de solemn fac’, sah. O-o-h! dar’s one ob de ’fernal cussess now, an’ dis chile am a goner!” he cried, catching sight of Kent, who was laughing till he could hardly keep his saddle.
“Nonsense, Scip,” said the young man, as soon as he could speak, “don’t you know me?”
The darkey straightened himself up, and rolling his eyes toward Kent with a laughable look of relief, in which terror yet had a prominent part, ejaculated:
“Am it reely you, sah? Laws, I thort you was an Injun. Anyhow, sah, dar is lots of ’em behind. Mass’r Vic is dar, an’ I hain’t no sort o’ doubt but what he’s dewoured long ’go. Hi, dar dey comes!” and the frightened African made a frantic plunge, as the sound of footsteps was heard approaching.
The trapper held him fast, and in an instant Vic Potter strode into the opening. Seeing Kent, he stopped at once, his face expressive of his glad surprise.
“Hello, my boy! I’m mighty glad tew see ye. I war ’beout sartin that the Injuns had done for ye. If yer comrad’ thar— Varmints! Is that yer, Nathan Rogers?”
“Wal, I reckon it are,” replied Nat, loosening his hold of the darkey, and advancing with a broad grin; “an’ ef that ain’t Vic Potter, then skin me for a grizzly! How are ye?”
“Hearty,” replied Vic, grasping the extended hand; “did ye ever know Vic tew be any thing else? How do ye come on, arter three years?”