“It’s done now—an’ _good an’ done_!” Joe grumbled. “But it’s all we’ve got, an’ we’ll make the best of it. Dang a long an’ limber tongue, anyhow! Mine’s alluz gittin’ me into some dangnation trouble. Well, we can cut off the burnt parts an’ feed ’em to the dog. Jest see the hungry purp! Looks like he’d like to take a slice out o’ me, this very minute. Ther’, Duke, clap y’r jaws on that. Gone a’ready, an’ wantin’ more? Ross Douglas, I may have a colony o’ frogs in me, but this houn’ o’ yours is infested with a tapeworm bigger ’n a black-snake—he is, by King Solermen’s harem! Git y’r knife out, an’ le’s fall to an’ eat; no use to wait on the Injin—no tellin’ where _he_ is.” Ross’s preoccupied air had not deserted him; and he ate sparingly of the tempting food. The eccentric woodman ravenously devoured great slices of the meat, grudgingly tossing the dog the burnt portions. At last he paused in his masticatory process and exclaimed: “Ross, somethin’s botherin’ you the worst kind; an’ whatever it is, it’s takin’ y’r appetite.” “I’m thinking,” Douglas replied. “Well, what’re you thinkin’ of?” “Of what has become of Bright Wing.” “An’ what’s yer c’nclusion?” “That he has gone back over our trail, to discover if we are followed.” “It’s more’n likely,” Joe assented. “But we can’t do nothin’ but wait fer him, can we?” “No.” “Well, that’s settled then. Say!” “Well?” “Why didn’t you kill that Bradford—the low-lived skunk—when you had a chance? ’Twould ’ave saved us no end o’ trouble, p’r’aps. Maybe he’s on our trail this minute, with a band o’ murderin’ red devils at his back.” “It’s probable.” “Well, why didn’t you kill him?” “I had reasons for not doing so.” “What was they?” “I don’t care to say.” “Huh! You’re gittin’ closer ’n a clam,” Joe muttered irritably. Then he continued: “An’ you didn’t kill that ol’ cuss of a Prophet?” Ross remained silent. “N’r Tecumseh, n’r none of ’em?” “I was hardly in a position to make a wholesale slaughter of my enemies,” Ross replied laughingly. “I was a captive, and surrounded by hundreds of bloodthirsty savages. I consider myself fortunate to have escaped with my life.” “Yes, that’s so,” Farley assented in a dissatisfied tone. “But it seems to me this campaign hain’t amounted to much. Tecumseh’s back among his warriors; an’ Bradford an’ the Prophet’s still alive. They’ll be hatchin’ more devilment, ’fore the next new moon. Howsoever, I’ve done _my_ part an’ hain’t got nothin’ to regret. But I don’t want to be a soldier no more; I’d ruther fight on my own hook. This thing o’ drivin’ oxen from one end o’ the Indiany Territory to the other ain’t what it’s cracked up to be.”—And he sighed feelingly.—“All I want’s to git back to my cabin on the ol’ Scioto—W’y, ding-it-all-to-dangnation! There’s the Injin this blessed minute!”