by J. B. Jones
CHAPTER IX.
Sneak skills a sow that "was not all a swine"--The breathlesssuspense--The match in readiness--Joe's cool demeanour--The matchignited--Explosion of the mine--Defeat of the savages--Thecaptive--His liberation--The repose--The kitten--Morning.
"Don't you think I know who you are, and what you're after?" saidSneak, as he observed a large black sow, or what seemed to be one,rambling about on the snow within a hundred paces of him. "If thatain't _my_ sow! She's gone, that's dead sure; and if I don't pepperthe red rascal that killed her I wish I may be split. That Indian 'llfind I'm not such a fool as he took me for. Just wait till he gitsclose enough. I ain't to be deceived by my own sow's dead skin, with agreat big Osage in it, nohow you can fix it." Sneak's conjecture wasright. The Indian that Joe had killed was a chief, and the apparentsow was nothing more than a savage enveloped in a swine's skin. TheIndian, after reconnoitering the premises with some deliberation,evidently believed that his stratagem was successful, and at lengthmoved in the direction of his dead comrade, with the manifestintention of bearing the body away.
"I'll let you have it now!" said Sneak, firing his rifle, when theseeming sow began to drag the fallen chief from the field. Thedischarge took effect; the savage sprang upright and endeavoured toretreat in the manner that nature designed him to run; but he did notgo more than a dozen paces before he sank down and expired.
"That's tit for tat, for killing my sow," said Sneak, gazing at hispostrate foe.
"Come here, Sneak," said Boone, from the opposite side of theinclosure.
"There was but one, and I fixed him," said Sneak, when they asked himhow many of the enemy were in view when he fired.
"They heard the gun," said Glenn, applying his ear to the chink, andremarking that the Indians had suddenly ceased to work under the snow.
"Be quiet," said Boone; "they will begin again in a minute or two."
"They're at it a'ready," said Sneak, a moment after, and very soonthey were heard again, more distinctly than ever, cutting away withincreased rapidity.
"Suppose the match does not burn?" observed Glenn, in tones betrayinga fearful apprehension.
"In such an event," said Boone, "we must retreat into the house, andfasten the door without a moment's delay. But I do not much fear anysuch failure, for the dampness of the snow cannot so soon havepenetrated through the dry reeds to the powder. Still we should beprepared--therefore, as there is no necessity that more than one of usshould be here now, and as I am that man, withdraw, all of you, withinthe house, and remain there until your ears and eyes shall dictatewhat course to pursue." Boone's command was promptly obeyed, and whenthey reached the house and looked back, (the door was kept open,) theybeheld the renowned pioneer standing erect, holding a pistol in hisright hand (which he pointed at the cotton that connected with a trainof powder running along a short plank to the reed that reached theburied keg,) while the moon, now midway in the heavens, "andbeautifully bright," revealed the stern and determined expression ofpale brow and fixed lip. Thus he stood many minutes, and they seemedhours to those who gazed upon the breathless scene from the house. Nota sound was heard, save the rapid ticking of tomahawks under the snowoutside of the inclosure, or the occasional hasty remark of those whowere looking on in painful and thrilling suspense. Once Boone bowedhis head and listened an instant to the operations of the savages, andwhen he rose erect again, the party looking on confidently expected hewould fire the train. But the fatal moment had not yet arrived. Stillhe pointed the pistol at the combustible matter, and his eye glancedalong the barrel; but he maintained a statue-like stillness, as ifawaiting some preconcerted signal.
"Why don't he fire?" inquired Glenn, in a whisper.
"It is not quite time yet," responded Roughgrove.
"Dod! they'll crawl up presently, and jump over the fence," saidSneak.
"Oh, goodness! I wish he'd shoot!" said Joe, in low, sepulchral tones,his head thrust between Sneak's legs, whither he had crawledunobserved, and was now peering out at the scene.
"Who are you?" exclaimed Sneak, leaping away from Joe's bandaged head,which he did not recognize at the first glance.
"It's nobody but me," said Joe, turning his face upward, that hisfriend might not suppose him an enemy.
"Well, what are you doing here? I thought you was a dying."
"I'm a good deal better, but I'm too weak to do any thing yet," saidJoe, in piteous tones, as he looked fearfully at Boone, and listenedto the strokes of the Indians without, which became louder and louder.
"Stand back a little," said Boone to those in the door-way, "that Imay enter when I fire--the match may burn more briskly than Ianticipated."
A passage was opened for him to enter. He pulled the trigger--thepistol missed fire--he deliberately poured in fresh priming from hishorn, and once more taking aim, the pistol was discharged, and,running to the house, and entering a little beyond the threshold, hepaused, and turned to behold the realization of his hopes. The lightcombustible matter flashed up brightly, and the blaze ran along theground a moment in the direction of the end of the reed; but at theinstant when all expected to see the powder ignited, the flames seemedto die away, and the darkness which succeeded impressed them with thefear that the damp snow had, indeed, defeated their purpose.
"Split me if it _shan't_ go off!" cried Sneak, running out with atorch in his hand, that he snatched from the fireplace. When hereached the trench that had been dug along the palisade, and in whichthe slow match was placed, he looked down but once, and dashing hisfire-brand behind him, sprang back to the house, with all the celerityof which he was capable. "Dod!" said he, "it's burning yet, but wecouldn't see it from here. It'll set the powder off in less than notime!"
"I trust it will!" said Boone, with much anxiety. And truly the crisishad arrived, beyond which, if it were delayed a single minute, itwould be too late! The _voices_ of the Indians could now be heard, andthe sounds of the tomahawks had ceased. They were evidently on the eveof breaking through the icy barrier, and rushing upon their victims.Boone, with a composed but livid brow, placed his hand upon theponderous door, for the purpose of retreating within, and barring outthe ruthless assailants. The rest instinctively imitated his motions,but at the same time their eyes were yet riveted on the dimly burningmatch. A small flash was observed to illumine the trench--another anda larger one succeeded! The first train of powder was ignited--theIndians were bursting through the snow-crust with direful yells--theblaze ran quickly along the plank--it reached the end of the reed--ashrill whizzing sound succeeded--a sharp crash under the snow--andthen all was involved in a tremendous chaotic explosion! An enormouscircular cloud of smoke enveloped the scene for a moment, and thencould be seen tomahawks, bows, and arrows, and even _savages_, sailingthrough the air. The moon was darkened for the space of severalminutes, during which time immense quantities of snow poured down fromabove. The startling report seemed to rend both the earth and theheavens, and rumbled far up and down the valley of the Missouri, likethe deep bellowing of a coruscant thunder-cloud, and died away insuccessive vibrations until it finally resembled the partiallysuppressed growling of an angry lion.
When the inmates of the house sallied forth, the scene was againquiet. After clearing away the enormous masses of snow from thepalisade, they looked out from the inclosure through the loophole onthe east, and all was stillness and silence. But the view was changed.Instead of the level and smooth surface, they now beheld a concaveformation of snow, beginning at the earth, which was laid bare wherethe powder had been deposited, and widening, upward and outward, tillthe ring of the extreme angle reached a height of fifteen or twentyfeet, and measured a circumference of fifty paces. But they did notdiscover a single dead body. On the contrary, they soon distinguishedthe sounds of the savages afar off, in fiendish and fearful yells, asthey retreated in great precipitation.
"Dod! none of 'em's killed!" exclaimed Sneak, looking about indisappointment.
"Hang it all, how could they expect to kill any, without
putting insome lead?" replied Joe, standing at his elbow, and evincing nosymptoms of illness.
"What're _you_ a doing out here? You'd better go in and finish dying,"said Sneak.
"No, I thank you," said Joe; "my time's not come yet; and when it doescome, I'll know what to do without your instructions. I'm well now--Inever felt better in my life, only when I was eating."
"Go to the horses, Joe, and see if they have suffered any injury,"said Glenn. "I don't believe a single Indian was killed by theexplosion," he continued, addressing Boone.
"The snow may have preserved them," replied Boone; "and yet," hecontinued, "I am sure I saw some of them flying up in the air."
"I saw them too," said Glenn, "but I have known instances of the kind,when powder-mills have blown up, where men were thrown a considerabledistance without being much injured."
"It answered our purpose, at all events," said Boone, "for now, noinducement whatever can ever bring them back"
"If I were sure of that," replied Glenn, "I would not regret thebloodless result of the explosion."
"You may rely upon it implicitly," said Boone; "for it was a surprisethey can never understand, and they will attach to it somesuperstitious interpretation, which will most effectually prevent themfrom meditating another attack"
"Goodness gracious alive!" exclaimed Joe, nimbly springing past Booneand Glenn, and rushing into the house.
"What can be the matter with the fellow, now?" exclaimed Glenn.
"He was alarmed at something in the stable--see what it is, Sneak,"said Boone.
"I've got you, have I? Dod! come out here!" exclaimed Sneak, when hehad been in the stable a few moments.
"Who are you talking to?" asked Glenn.
"A venimirous Osage smutty-face!" said Sneak, stepping out of thestable door backwards, and dragging an Indian after him by the ears.
"What is that?" demanded Glenn, staring at the singular object beforehim. The question was by no means an unnatural one, for no being inthe human shape ever seemed less like a man. The unresisting andbewildered savage looked wildly round, displaying a face as black asif he had just risen from the bottom of some infernal lake. Histattered buckskin garments had shared the same fate in the explosion;his eyebrows, and the hair of his head were singed and crisped; and,altogether he might easily have passed for one of Pluto's scullions.He did not make resistance when Sneak led him forth, seeming toanticipate nothing else than an instantaneous and cruel death, and wasapparently resigned to his fate. He doubtless imagined that escape andlonger life were utterly impossible, inasmuch as, to hiscomprehension, he was in the grasp of evil spirits. If he had askedhimself _how_ he came thither, it could not have occurred to him thatany other means than the agency of a supernatural power threw him intothe hands of the foe.
"I thought I saw one of them plunging through the air over theinclosure," said Boone, smiling.
"Hanged if I didn't think so too," said Joe, who had at lengthreturned to gaze at the captive, when he ascertained that he wasentirely meek and inoffensive.
"Have you got over your fright already?" asked Sneak.
"What fright?" demanded Joe, with affected surprise.
"Now, _can_ you say you weren't skeered?"
"Ha! ha! ha! I believe you really thought I _was_ frightened. Why, youdunce, you! I only ran in to tell Miss Mary about it."
"Now go to bed. Don't speak to me agin to night," said Sneak,indignantly.
"I'll go and get something to eat," said Joe, retreating into thehouse.
"Tell Roughgrove to come here," said Boone, speaking to Joe.
"I will," said Joe, vanishing through the door.
When the old ferryman came out, Boone requested him (he being the mostfamiliar with the Osage language,) to ask the savage by what means hewas enabled to get inside of the inclosure. Roughgrove did hisbidding; and the Indian replied that the Great Spirit _threw_ him overthe palisade, because he once killed a friend of Boone's at thecave-spring, and was now attempting to kill another.
"Why did you wish to kill us?" asked Roughgrove.
The Indian said it was because they thought Glenn had a great deal ofmoney, many fire weapons, and powder and bullets, which they (thesavages) wanted.
"Was it _right_ to rob the white man of these things, and then tomurder him?" continued Roughgrove.
The savage replied that the prophet (Raven) had told the war-party itwas right. Besides, they came a long and painful journey to get(Glenn's) goods, and had suffered much with cold in digging under thesnow; several of their party had been killed and wounded, and hethought they had a good right to every thing they could get.
"Did the whites ever go to your village to rob and murder?" inquiredthe old ferryman.
The Indian assumed a proud look, and replied that they _had_. He saidthat the buffalo, the bear, the deer, and the beaver--the eternalprairies and forests--the rivers, the air and the sky, all belonged tothe red men. That the whites had not been _invited_ to come amongthem, but they had intruded upon their lands, stolen their game, andkilled their warriors. Yet, he said, the Indians did not hate Boone,and would not have attacked the premises that night, if they had knownhe was there.
"Why do they not hate Boone? He has killed more of them than any oneelse in this region," continued Roughgrove.
The Indian said that Boone was a great prophet, and was loved by theGreat Spirit.
"Will the war-party return hither to-night?" asked Roughgrove.
The Indian answered in the negative; and added that they would neverattack that place again, because the Great Spirit had fought againstthem.
Boone requested Roughgrove to ask what would be done with the falseprophet who had advised them to make the attack.
The savage frowned fiercely, and replied that he would be tied to atree, and shot through the heart a hundred times.
"What do you think we intend to do to _you_?" asked Roughgrove.
The savage said he would be skinned alive and put under the ice in theriver, or burned to death by a slow fire. He said he was ready to die.
"I'll be shot if he isn't a spunky fellow!" said Sneak.
"Do you desire such a fate?" continued the old ferry man.
"The Indian looked at him with surprise, and answered withouthesitation that he _did_--and then insisted upon being killedimmediately.
"Would you attempt to injure the white man again if we were not tokill you?"
The Indian smiled, but made no answer.
"I am in earnest," continued Roughgrove, "and wish to know what youwould do if we spared your life."
The Indian said such talk was only trifling, and again insisted uponbeing dispatched.
After a short consultation with Boone and Glenn, Roughgrove repeatedhis question.
The savage replied that he did not believe it possible for him toescape immediate death--but if he were not killed, he could neverthink of hurting any of those, who saved him, afterwards. Yet hestated very frankly that he would kill and rob any _other_ pale-faceshe might meet with.
"Let me blow his brains out," said Sneak, throwing his gun up to hisshoulder. The Indian understood the movement, if not the words, andturning towards him, presented a full front, without quailing.
"He speaks the truth," said Boone; "he would never injure any of ushimself, nor permit any of his tribe to do it, so far as his influenceextended. Yet he will die rather than make a promise not to molestothers. His word may be strictly relied upon. It is not fear thatextorts the promise never to war against us--it would be his gratitudefor sparing his life. Take down your gun, Sneak. Let us decide uponhis fate. I am in favour of liberating him."
"And I," said Glenn.
"And I," said Roughgrove.
"I vote for killing him," said Sneak.
"Hanged if I don't, too," said Joe, who had been listening from thedoor.
"Spare him," said Mary, who came out, and saw what was passing.
"We have the majority, Mary," said Glenn; "and when innocence pleads,the generous
hand is stayed."
Roughgrove motioned the savage to follow, and he led him to the gate.The prisoner did not understand what was to be done. He evidentlysupposed that his captors were about to slay him, and he looked up, ashe thought, the last time, at the moon and the stars, and his lipsmoved in deep and silent adoration.
Roughgrove opened the gate, and the savage followed him out,composedly awaiting his fate. But seeing no indication of violence,and calling to mind the many wild joys of his roving youth, and thehorrors of a sudden death, he spoke not, yet his brilliant eyes weredimmed for a moment with tears. His deep gaze seemed to implore mercyat the hands of his captors. He would not utter a petition that hislife might be spared, yet his breast heaved to rove free again overthe flowery prairies, to bathe in the clear waters of running streams,to inhale the balmy air of midsummer morning, to chase the pantingdeer upon the dizzy peak, and to hail once more the bright smiles ofhis timid bride in the forest-shadowed glen.
"Go! thou art free!" said Roughgrove.
The Indian stared in doubt, and looked reproachfully at the guns inthe hands of his captors, as if he thought they were only mocking himwith hopes of freedom, when it was their intention to shoot him downthe moment he should think his life was truly spared.
"Go! we will not harm thee!" repeated Roughgrove.
"And take this," said Mary, placing some food in his yielding hand.
The Indian gazed upon the maiden's face. His features, by a magicaltransition, now beamed with confidence and hope. Mary was intears--not tears of pity for his impending death, but a gush ofgenerous emotion that his life was spared. The savage read herheart--he knew that the white woman never intercedes in vain, and thatno victim falls when sanctified by her tears. He clasped her hand andpressed it to his lips; and then turning away in silence, set off in astately and deliberate pace towards the west. He looked not back tosee if a treacherous gun was pointed at him. He knew that the maidenhad not trifled with him. He knew that she would not mock a dying manwith bread. He neither looked back nor quickened his step. And so hevanished from view in the valley.
"Dod! he's gone! We ought to've had his sculp!" said Sneak, betrayingserious mortification.
"We must give it up, though--we were in the minority," said Joe,satisfied with the decision.
"In the what?" asked Sneak.
"In the minority," said Joe.
"Let's go in the house and git something to eat," said Sneak.
"Hang me if I ain't willing to be with you there," said Joe.
The whole party entered the house to partake of a collation preparedby the dainty hands of Mary. Mary had frequently insisted upon servingthem with refreshments during the night, but hitherto all herpersuasions had been unavailing, for the dangers that beset them onevery hand had banished all other thoughts than those of determineddefensive operations.
He clasped her hand, and pressed it to his lips.--P.120]
Boone was so certain that nothing farther was to be apprehended fromthe enemy, that he dispensed with the sentinels at the loopholes. Herelied upon Ringwood and Jowler to guard them through the remainder ofthe night; and when a hearty meal was eaten he directed his gallantlittle band to enjoy their wonted repose.
Ere long Mary slumbered quietly beside her father, while Boone andGlenn occupied the remaining couch. Sneak was seated on a low stool,near the blazing fire, and Joe sat in Glenn's large arm chair, on theopposite side of the hearth. The fawn and the kitten were coiled closetogether in the centre of the room.
Save the grinding jaws of Sneak and Joe, a death-like silence reigned.Occasionally, when Sneak lifted his eyes from the pewter platter thatlay upon his knees, and glanced at the bandages on his companion'shead, his jaws would cease to move for a few moments, during which hegazed in astonishment at the ravenous propensity of the invalid. Butnot being inclined to converse or remonstrate, he endeavoured to getthrough with his supper with as much expedition as possible, that hemight enjoy all the comforts of refreshing sleep. Yet he was often onthe eve of picking a quarrel with Joe, when he suffered a suddentwinge from his broken tooth, while striving to tear the firmerportion of the venison from the bone. But when he reflected upon hispeculiar participation in the occurrence which had caused him sojustly to suffer, he repressed his rising anger and proceeded with hislabour of eating.
Joe, on the other hand, discussed his savoury dish with unalloyedsatisfaction; yet he, too, paused occasionally, and fixing his eyesupon the glaring fire, seemed plunged in the deepest thought. But hedid not glance at his companion. At these brief intervals he wasapparently reflecting upon the incidents of the night. One thing inparticular puzzled him; he could not, for the life of him, conceivehow his musket rebounded with such violence, when he was positivelycertain that he had put but one charge in it, and that only a moderateone. He was sometimes inclined to think the blow he received on thehead was dealt by Sneak; but when he reflected it would be unnaturalfor one man to strike another with his _teeth_, and that Sneak hadlikewise sustained a serious injury at the same time, conjectures wereentirely at fault.
"What are you a thinking about so hard?" asked Sneak.
"I'm trying to think how I got that blow on the back of my head," saidJoe, turning half abstractedly to Sneak.
"Yes, and I'd like to know how you come to mash my mouth sodod-rottedly," said Sneak, in well-affected ill nature.
"Hang it, Sneak, you know well enough that I wouldn't do such a thingon purpose, when I was obliged to almost knock out my own brains to doit," said Joe, apologetically.
"If I hadn't thought of that," replied Sneak, "I don't know but Ishould've shot you through when I got up."
"And I should never have blamed you for it," said Joe, "if it had beendone on purpose. Does it hurt you much now?"
"Don't you see how its bleeding?"
"That's gravy running out of your mouth, ain't it?"
"Yes, but its bloody a little," said Sneak, licking his lips.
"I shall have to sit up and sleep," said Joe; "for my head's so sore Ican't lie down."
"I'm a going to lay my head on this stool and sleep; and I'm gettingso drowsy I can't set much longer," said Sneak.
"All'll be square between us, about breaking your tooth, won't it?"
"Yes, I can't bear malice," said Sneak, shaking Joe's extended hand.
"Oh me!" said Joe, "I shan't be able to doze a bit, hardly, for tryingto study out how the old musket came to kick me so."
"I've got a notion to tell you, jest to see if you'll sleep anybetter, then."
"Do you know?" asked Joe, quickly; "if you do, I'll thank you with allmy heart to tell me?"
"Dod! if I don't!" said Sneak; "but all's square betwixt us?"
"Yes, if you're willing."
"Well, don't you remember when I told you to count the Indiansstanding out there, I leant agin you to look over your shoulder? Istole a cartrich out of your shot-bag then, and slipt it in the muzzleof your musket. Don't you know it was leaning agin the post?"
Joe turned round and looked Sneak full in the face for severalmoments, without uttering a word.
"When it went off," continued Sneak, "it made the tremendousest crackI ever heard in all my life, except when the keg of powder busted."
"You confounded, blasted rascal you!" exclaimed Joe, doubling up hisfists, and preparing to assault his friend.
"Now don't go to waking up the folks!" said Sneak.
"I'll be hanged if I hain't got a great notion to wear out the ironpoker over your head!" continued Joe, his eyes gleaming with rage.
"Look at my tooth," said Sneak, grinning in such manner that theremaining fragment of the member named could be distinctly seen. Theludicrous expression of his features was such as constrained Joe tosmile, and his enmity vanished instantaneously.
"I believe you got the worst of the bargain, after all," said Joe,falling back in his chair and laughing quite heartily.
"You know," continued Sneak, "I didn't mean it to turn out as bad asit did. I jest thou
ght it would kick you over in the snow, and nothurt you any, hardly."
"Well, let's say no more about it," said Joe; "but when you do anything of that kind hereafter, pause and reflect on the consequences,and forbear."
"I'll keep my mouth out of the way next time," said Sneak; "and now,as all's square betwixt us, s'pose we agree about how we are to dowith them dead Indians. S'pose we go halves with all the thingsthey've got?"
"No, I'll be hanged if I do!" said Joe quickly. "The one I shot was achief, and he's sure to have some gold about him."
"Yes, but you know you'd never a killed him if it hadn't been for me."
"But if it hadn't been for you I wouldn't have got hurt," replied Joe,reproachfully.
"Well, I don't care much about the chief--the one I killed maybe tookall his silver and gold before I shot him. Anyhow, I know I can findsomething out there in the snow where they were blowed up," saidSneak, arranging a buffalo robe on the hearth and lying down.
"And we must hereafter let each other alone, Sneak," said Joe, "forthe fact is, we are both too much for one another in our tricks."
"I'm willing," replied Sneak, lazily, as his eyes gradually closed.
Joe placed his dish on the shelf over the fireplace, and folding hisarms, and leaning back in his great chair, likewise closed his eyes.
But a few moments sufficed to place them both in the land of dreams.And now the silence was intense. Even the consuming logs of woodseemed to sink by degrees into huge livid coals, without emitting theleast sparkling sound. The embers threw a dim glare over the scene,such as Queen Mab delights in when she leads her fairy train throughthe chambers of sleeping mortals. A sweet smile rested upon the lipsof Mary. A loved form flitted athwart her visions. Roughgrove'sfeatures wore a grave but placid cast. Boone's face was as passionlessand calm as if he were a stranger to terrific strife. Perils could nowmake no impression on him. There was sadness on the damp brow ofGlenn, and a tear was stealing through the corner of his lids. A sceneof woe, or the crush of cherished hopes, was passing before hisentranced vision. Sneak, ever and anon grasped the empty air, andmotioned his arm, as if in the midst of deadly conflict. And Joe,though his bruised face betrayed not his cast of thought, stillevinced a participation in the ideal transactions of the night, by thefrequent involuntary motions of his body, and repeated endeavours toavoid visionary dangers.
The kitten lay upon the soft neck of the fawn, and at intervalsresumed its low, humming song, which had more than once been hushed inperfect repose. At a late hour, or rather an early one, just ere thefirst faint ray of morning appeared in the distant east, puss purredrather harshly on the silken ears of its companion, and its sharpclaws producing a stinging sensation, the fawn shook its headviolently, and threw its little bed-fellow rather rudely several feetaway. The kitten, instead of being angry, fell into a merry mood, andbegan to frisk about in divers directions, first running under thebed, then springing upon some diminutive object on the floor as itwould upon a mouse, and finally pricking again the ear of the fawn.The fawn then rose up, and creeping gently about the room, touched thecheeks or hands of the slumbering inmates with its velvet tongue, butso softly that none were awakened. The kitten, no longer able to annoyits companion by its mischievous pranks, now paced up to the fire andcommenced playing with a dangling string attached to Joe's moccasin.Once it jumped up with such force against his foot that he jerked itquickly several inches away. But this only diverted puss the more.Instead of being content with the palpable demonstration thuseffected, it followed up the advantage gained by applying both itsclaws and teeth to the foot. While it confined its operations to thestout buckskin, but little impression was made; but when it came incontact with the ankle, which was only covered with a yarn stocking,the result was entirely different.
"Ugh! Confound the fire!" exclaimed Joe, giving a tremendous kick,which dashed puss most violently into Sneak's face.
"Hey! Dod! What is it?" cried Sneak, tearing the kitten (whose brierynails had penetrated the skin of his nose) away, and throwing itacross the room. "I say! did you do that?" continued Sneak, wiping theblood from his nose with his sleeve, and addressing Joe, who kept hiseyes fast closed, though almost bursting with suppressed laughter, andpretending to be steeped in earnest slumber. "I won't stand this!"said Sneak, smarting with his wounds, and striking the chair in whichJoe sat with his foot. "Now," continued Sneak, "if you done that, jestsay so, that's all."
"Did what?" asked Joe, opening his eyes suddenly.
"Why, throwed that ere pestiverous cat on me!" said Sneak.
"No. Goodness! is there a pole-cat in here?" exclaimed Joe, in suchwell-counterfeited tones of anxiety and alarm, that the real encounteroccurring to Sneak, and his pain being now somewhat abated, he gavevent to a hearty fit of laughter, which awoke every person in thehouse.
