“Faith, and I like both, and a slice of the breast to boot. I'm just the fellow, now the varmints are gone, that could eat all of them.”
“Yes, but you know,” returned the temporary chef de cuisine, “it must be share and share alike—there's two legs—two wings and the breast, and the back slit in two—that just makes six portions, and we're six men in all.”
“Cast lots fiddlestick,” said Green, “what portion do you expect, Nutcrackers? unless it's the neck, and the scaly part of the leg, the Injin had hold of when you so bravely sent your bayonet through her feathers.”
“Well, only think how cunning of the fellows,” remarked Weston, “who'd ever have thought they would try that fashion to get in, cramming an old turkey before them to clear the way, and get in his craw the first bullet that might be sent.”
“Yes, and the tight grip the fellow had of him by the leg. Just look, Green, the mark of the devil's hand may be upon him yet. It was the right leg, and that's it you have.”
“Bosh! what do you expect me to find there but the marks of your dirty paws while plucking him, I'm too devilish hungry for such nonsense, Nutcrackers; but show me the Injin that would venture to touch his legs now. If I wouldn't mark him, then my name's not Seth Green.”
Scarcely had he finished speaking, when a dark naked human hand was slowly protruded over his shoulder, and seized not the leg of the turkey, which Green now grasped with unconscious and convulsive energy, but a brand from the fire.
In his terror at that strange and unexpected appearance, he dropped the body of the bird in the glowing embers, and uttering a faint cry, turned half round and beheld what filled him with the deepest dismay: his companions, scarcely less terrified than himself, sprang together to their feet, with the intention of rushing to their muskets, but all hope of recovering them was gone. The savage who had snatched the fire was no longer there then, but half a dozen others in their war-paint stood between them and their firelocks. It seemed as if they were sensible that their very silence inspired more awe and apprehension in the bosoms of their defenceless enemies than could have done the most turbulent expression of their triumph. They had evidently entered by the back door, which was now quite open, and grouped around the body of Mr. Heywood, were apparently more interested in the dead than in the living. Not a sign was there of the corporal, and Philips stood as if paralyzed, leaning, musket in hand, against the opposite entrance.