“Settling some old grudge, perhaps, against the varmint.” “A cowardly way of settling it, at any rate. Why doesn’t he take the live savages instead of the dead ones.” “’Cause there are none to take. He ain’t one of the chaps as is _afraid_. No, sir, he’d raise the top-knot of any Shawnee, dead or kicking.” “But this is not the place to commit such barbarities as that, and I’ll stop him before any of the others see him.” Kingman applied his mouth to the loop-holes, and shrieked. “Helloa there! What are you at?” The backwoodsman raised his eyes and looked up at the block-house, but made no reply. He then stooped, and seizing another Indian committed the same disgusting outrage upon him. His coolness and unconcern touched Kingman, and he called out. “Did you hear what I said?” “None your business,” retorted the hunter, continuing his operations as before. “Confound him!” muttered Kingman to Moffat. “I have a great notion to give him a taste of cold lead for his imprudence.” “You try it, and you will never pull another trigger,” replied Moffat in his tone of deadly meaning. “Why, what has got into you so suddenly?” “Do you know who that man is?” “I known he is as much savage as any Shawnee I have ever yet seen.” “Wal, sir, that chap is my brother, and if you’ve got any differences to settle he’ll give you the chance, but if you undertake any trick, here’s his brother, and there’ll be a dead man in your tracks in two minutes and a half.” “I beg your pardon, Abe; I had no idea who the man was. A friend of yours is a friend of mine, no matter who or what he is. Forgive me, will you? Your hand on it?” With true backwoodsman frankness and good nature, Abe Moffat extended his bony palm, and a genial smile lit up his countenance. CHAPTER X. COLONEL CLARK AND HIS RANGERS. At this moment the subject of their conversation, Tom Moffat, made his appearance at the entrance. Upon seeing that he was a white man, he was admitted at once. He strode in with that independent, careless air so common to his race, paying no attention to the inquisitive looks that were cast upon him. The first person who met him was Edwards, who had just returned from the funeral ceremonies referred to. “Why, what brings you here?” he asked, with a smile. “My legs, I believe. How are you thriving, George?” “Very well. How does it go with you?” “Tolerable only. Had quite a scrimmage here, from the look of things.” “Yes; this is bad business—though kind Providence has watched over us thus far. His great name be praised for it.” “How many killed?” “Three only. This is a severe loss; but it’s nothing to that which we were compelled to inflict upon these heathens who so wantonly assail us. It seems that they should learn wisdom by their sad experience.” “Any other of the varmint would, except them Shawnees. They kill and hack so much they’re willing to stand it just for the fun.”