The scalps the hunter carried to the cave, where he hung them up as “trophies,” he said, “an’ ter remind him of the scrimmage.”
“Well,” said Kent, “I’d rather the ‘noble red-man’ should keep away from here. I don’t relish the idea of having them discover this cave, and likely enough keep us in here until we starve.”
“I should objeck tew thet thing, myself,” said the trapper, “but, I guess they won’t find us. I’ve ockepied this domicil for several seasons, an’ I hain’t been walled in yet. Fact is,” said the old hunter, waxing eloquent, “I never was born an’ reared for the purpose of bein’ killed by an Injun. I’ve lived in this kentry for a number of years, an’ been in some four hundred an’ thirty-two scrimmages, reckonin’ it by arithmetickal progression, an’ snatched some half-dozen copper-skins bald-headed in each one; an’ I’m now goin’ on my fifty-tooth year, an’ at this present speakin’ I’m a whole individual, an’ endowed with sartin unailyunable rights, among which is life, liberty, an’ the pursuit of Injuns.”
This was said while the old trapper proceeded with the manufacture of a pair of moccasins which he “wanted tew fool the reds with. Ye see,” he said, cutting away at the leather, “thar’s Injuns ’round, an’ I want tew scout a bit, an’ seein’ these moccasin-tracks they’ll naterly suppose it’s an Injun made the tracks.”
Several days passed without any signs of Indians, and the young man was enjoying himself. This wild, free life greatly pleased him. He went and came, with no cares nor duties to hinder or perplex.
One day Wild Nat was busy cleaning his gun, which he averred had been “consarndly bamboozled in some way. Why, it’s a solemn fackt, thet yesterday when I shot at thet wild turkey it held fire, an’ it’s suthin’ it never done afore since I got it,” he continued, giving the wiper a vicious jerk.
“Well,” said Kent, taking up his rifle and examining the priming, “I believe I’ll go out a while, and see if I can get a wild turkey. I can’t say that I appreciate buffalo-hump as a regular diet.”
He shouldered his rifle and started, followed by the trapper’s warning words:
“Keep yer eyes open for Injuns, or they might ask ye to taste tomahawk. I don’t doubt but they’re ’round.”
“All right; I will keep a sharp look-out,” was answered, as the young man emerged from their retreat in the hill, and started up the ravine.