You g' long! Dat's none uf my lookout. Ef it wusn't as I tell you, would de young Injun be dar in my doo' now, smokin' his pipe? Ef you won't b'lieve me ax him; an' ef you can't take his word fur it, ax Grumbo. [Audience: "H-yah, h-yah, h-yah!" "Shucks!" See Glossary. And here again, too roundly and soundly for mere coincidence, Grumbo fetched the stump a ratifying rap of the tail, that said as plainly as a dog's tail ever said any thing: "Yea, and I'll swear to it."] * * * * * But we have followed our black Munchausen through the least wonderful part of his story, as narrated by himself; and further than this, for reasons already hinted, we dare not venture, the facts of the narrative here beginning to grow tame again, and the narrator's fancies wide. So we shall leave our lion to go on roaring it out into the ears of his colored admirers to his heart's satisfaction, till he is empty and they are full. At last, after blowing and puffing for nearly an hour in the popular ear, the windy story, tapering off with a little facetious gas designed for the ladies, found its way to an end, and dismissing his audience with a majestic wave of his war-cap, Big Black Burl came down from the rostrum. Chapter XV. HOW BIG BLACK BURL SEWED IT UP IN HIS WAR-CAP. By the time the Fighting Nigger had made an end of blowing his trumpet, the shadows of the long summer twilight had deepened into the shades of night, reminding him that it was high time he should be looking after the comfort of his captive guest. While the blowing and roaring had been going on from the stump, the young Indian had remained seated on the cabin door-sill, tranquilly smoking his pipe, the odorous contents of which showed forth at long and regular intervals in a dull-red glow from the dusky shadow of the cabin-shed. Taking him in, Burl hospitably yielded up to his guest his own bed--the bear-skin bed he was so proud of and loved so much to sleep on--spreading for himself instead a buffalo-rug on the floor. In a little while the spirit of sleep had descended on every weary soul in the fort--all save the wakeful Grumbo, who, crouched on his bear-skin out there under the shed, maintained, as was his habit, vigilant watch through the livelong night. Now that his great adventure had been brought to a happy end, the Fighting Nigger must once more doff his bear-skin cap--the cap of war--and don, instead, his coon-skin cap--the cap of peace; hang his battle-ax up on the wall, and lay his hand to the plow; muzzle his war-dog, and bridle his plow-horse; and leave the war-path in the forest to tread the peace-path in the field.