Not so our friend Dave.  He wurn’t afeared of no Injin, he said; sartainly not of one what had been weakened down to half the strength.  Ef any man dared him to marry a Injin and backed the dare by ten thousand dollars, blamed ef he wouldn’t take the dare.  He wouldn’ be dared by no Frenchman to marry his daughter.  He wouldn’t.  He wa’n’t afeard to marry a Injin.  He’d cawntrack to do it fer ten thousand.

The first effect of this thought on Dave’s mind was to change his view of the county-seat question.  He shook his head now when Plausaby’s brick court-house was spoken of.  The squire was awful ’cute; too ’cute to live, he said ominously.

Dave concluded that ten thousand dollars could be made much more easily by foregoing his preferences for a white wife in favor of a red one, than by cawntracting to set out shade-trees, dig post-holes, or drive oxen.  So he lost no time in visiting the old trader.

[Illustration:  A PINCH OF SNUFF.]

He walked in, in his slouching fashion, shook hands with M. Perritaut, gave his name as David Sawney, cawntracter, and after talking a little about the county-seat question, he broached the question of marriage with Mathilde Perritaut.

“I hearn tell that you are willin’ to do somethin’ han’some fer a son-in-law.”

“Varee good, Mistare Sonee.  You air a man of bisnees, perhaps, maybe.  You undairstand tese tings.  Eh? Tres bien—­I mean vary well, you see.  I want that my daughtare zhould maree one re-spect-ah-ble man.  Vare good.  You air one, maybe.  I weel find out. Tres bien, you see, my daughtare weel marree the man that I zay.  You weel come ovare here next week.  Eef I find you air respect-ah-ble, I weel then get my lawyare to make a marriage contract.”

“A cawntrack?” said Dave, starting at the sound of his favorite word.  “Very well, musheer, I sign a cawntrack and live up to it.”

“Vare good.  Weel you have one leetle peench of snuff?” said the old man, politely opening his box.

“Yes, I’m obleeged, musheer,” said Dave.  “Don’t keer ef I do.”  And by way of showing his good-will and ingratiating himself with the Frenchman, Dave helped himself to an amazingly large pinch.  Indeed, not being accustomed to take snuff, he helped himself, as he did to chewing tobacco when it was offered free, with the utmost liberality.  The result did not add to the dignity of his bearing, for he was seized with a succession of convulsions of sneezing.  Dave habitually did everything in the noisiest way possible, and he wound up each successive fit of sneezing with a whoop that gave him the semblance of practicing an Indian war-song, by way of fitting himself to wed a half-breed wife.

“I declare,” he said, when the sneezing had subsided, “I never did see no sech snuff.”

“Vare good,” resumed M. Perritaut.  “I weel promees in the contract to geeve you one ten tousant tollars—­deux mille—­two tousant avery yare for fife yare. Tres bien.  My daughtare is edu_cate_; she stoody fife, seex yare in te convent at Montreal.  Zhe play on piano evare so many tune. Bien.  You come Monday.  We weel zee.  Adieu.  I mean good-by, Mistare Sonee.”