As the spring “clicked,” I saw the eyes start. “It will be on me now!”
Quick as the thought, I placed my finger to the trigger but before I could level, a voice, with a well-known accent, restrained me.
“Hold on thur!” cried the voice. “Why didn’t ’ee say yur hide wur white? I thought ’twur some sneaking Injun. Who are ’ee, anyhow? ’Tain’t Bill Garey? No, Billee, ’tain’t you, ole fellur.”
“No,” said I, recovering from my surprise; “it’s not Bill.”
“I mout ’a guessed that. Bill wud ’a know’d me sooner. He wud ’a know’d the glint o’ this niggur’s eyes as I wud his’n. Ah! poor Billee! I’s afeerd that trapper’s rubbed out; an’ thur ain’t many more o’ his sort in the mountains. No, that thur ain’t.
“Rot it!” continued the voice, with a fierce emphasis; “this comes o’ layin’ one’s rifle ahint them. Ef I’d ’a had Tar-guts wi’ me, I wudn’t ’a been hidin’ hyur like a scared ’possum. But she are gone; that leetle gun are gone; an’ the mar too; an’ hyur I am ’ithout eyther beast or weepun; cuss the luck!”
And the last words were uttered with an angry hiss, that echoed through every part of the cave.
“Yur the young fellur, the capt’n’s friend, ain’t ’ee?” inquired the speaker, with a sudden change of tone.
“Yes,” I replied.
“I didn’t see yur a-comin’ in, or I mout ’a spoke sooner. I’ve got a smart lick across the arm, an’ I wur just a-tyin’ it up as ye tumbled in thur. Who did ’ee think this child wur?”