"No, ghosts don't bother this hyar hoss. Nor red-skins nor grizzlies neither. I kin trap more beaver, kill more b'ar, shoot straighter, run quicker, jump further, lie faster, stampede more animiles, an' carry more pelts than any bloody bulldorg ever invented. But, I'm the man without luck. I've wrastled with the old boy fur thirty years; he's got an under holt on me; but, I'm dead game, I am! Luck or no luck, I'll hang like seventeen pair o' tongs and a last inch gamecock. Waugh!"
The negro listened to these announcements, if Winkle did not. He was accustomed to this style of thing and had heard Blaze before.
"Mass'r Blaze, 'pears to me de bad luck ain't so mitey bad; I's t'inkin it's toder way cl'ar. Any odder man 'ud bin gone under—dun gone suah—ef he'd had de half what you's had to go tru. You's allers a-sayin' you's nary luck, an' allers a-gittin inter de w'ustest kind o' skrimdigers—an' still you am heah. What's de trouble now?"
"Wal, Pomp, I allow it's no luck as pulls me through, but just pure grit and muskle in this huyer hoss. I war camped out in a bully old spot last week; meat plenty, beaver to be had for the taken of 'em, and every thing going along on a string. Didn't think thar was Injin within twenty mile, an', blast me, ef they didn't cum down an' clear us out quicker than the jerk of a dead deer's tail. Bob Short an' I war thar together, you see, an' Bob struck all right, but they got my old sorrel mare, an' all our provender, an' I just cum down from them are mountings after a chase o' four days, poorer ner Job's turkey, an' nothen left me but Slicer an' this huyer old shootin'-iron. An' this huyer very blessed night, as I were movin' along promisc'us, thar war a rifle-ball went sizz a-past my head-piece, ad' I squatted an' see'd two men a talkin', an' found that thar bit o' lead warn't meant fur me an' while I war a-listenin', sock cum somethin' right acrost me, an' hove a yell wuss ner forty catamounts fitin' in a small box. I know'd it war a copper-belly an' clinched. We hed it, pull an' hug a bit, an' then I got Slicer out. That thar red-skin won't cum a-pryin' an' a-peerin' down along Back Load Trace soon ag'in. Nary; not much; waugh!"
The story of the trapper began to interest Winkle; he thought less and less of the ghost; he descended from the clouds and listened with earnestness to what the man was saying. He thought of the corpse that Martin and he had seen drifting down the stream, and believed that the Indian would not come prying and peering in that neighborhood soon again. Perhaps, too, this man might be of service to him? At any rate it would do no harm to meet him cordially.
"Then you are the man who had the tussle over there with an Indian? I heard the yell, saw him shoot into the stream, and went across to see what it was about. I was following your trail, when I came across a sight, or rather a sight came across me, that unhinged my nerves. But, how came the difficulty with the Indian? What was he doing there? Is there danger from others that should be specially guarded against?"
"Yes, siree, I'm the man! The diffikilty perobably arove from his not keepin' both eyes peeled. He was so bent on hearin' that he couldn't take time to see, an' tumbled onto a hornet's nest. He clinched right in then by instink, an' as it war die dorg er eat the hatchet, I hed to let it inte him, though I'd as ruther not. What he was a-doin' I dunno. Injin deviltry are various. Thar oughtn't to be a red-skin within fifty miles o' huyer. Thar may be a couple more on 'em or thar mayn't. What they'd be arter I can't say. Martin ought to know'd ef thar war any, an' I guess he's got his men out by this time a-lookin'."
"It will be best then to keep a bright look-out?"
"'Twouldn't be onsensible. Leastwise, though I don't think thar's much danger, it won't hurt to keep one eye open, for I've found it don't altogether gee right to be too confiding in this section with anybody—white er red. I'd advise it. I'd advise it, partickler, arter the talk I heard between you an' Martin. You see, I hain't any doubt but what yer a good man an' a game man; but, supposin' he was to tell it to some o' his cronies around here, an' one on 'em should be the man yer after—I wouldn't put it a-past 'em to slip in here an' slide a few inch o' steel in somewhar nigh yer jug'lar."
Winkle meditated some little time before he responded; then his words dropped out slowly and distinctly.