“I’ve thort o’ that a’ready. It’ll be all right, promise ye.”
“In what way can you arrange it?”
“This way. Thur’s a hunk o’ deer-meat in the house: I mean to fetch that out, and chuck it over thur, into the middle o’ the clarin’. Ye see them buzzarts up thur on the dead-woods?” I nodded in the affirmative. “Wal—it won’t be long afore one or other o’ them flops down to the meat; an’ the first o’ ’em that touches ground, that’ll be the signal. That’s fair enuf, I reck’n?”
“Perfectly fair,” I replied, still speaking mechanically—for the very justness of the proposal rendered my astonishment continuous.
I was something more than astonished at the altered demeanour of the man. He was fast disarming me. His unexpected behaviour had subdued my ire; and, all consideration of consequences apart, I now felt a complete disinclination for the combat! Was it too late to stay our idle strife? Such was my reflection the moment after; and, with an effort conquering my pride, I gave words to the thought.
“Yur too late, mister! ’twon’t do now,” was the reply to my pacific speech.
“And why not?” I continued to urge; though to my chagrin, I began to perceive that it was an idle effort.
“Yuv riz my dander; an’, by God! yuv got to fight for it!”
“But surely—”
“Stop yur palaver! By the tarnal airthquake, I’ll ’gin to think you air a coward! I thort ye’d show, the white feather afore ’twur all over!”