“Then have you less brains, my jolly Jack, then I have given you credit for,” said the other.  “The story you speak of is somewhat too flimsy to serve us long.  We must have a better claim to the lands than can come of possession in trust for an heir not to be produced, till we can find the way to Abraham’s bosom.  We have now obtained it:  the younker, thanks to your Piankeshaw cut-throats, is on the path to Paradise; the girl is left alone, sole claimant, and heiress at law.  In a word, Jack, I design to marry her;—­ay, faith will-she nill-she, I will marry her:  and thereby, besides gratifying certain private whims and humours not worth mentioning, I will put the last finish to the scheme, and step into the estate with a clear conscience.”

“But the will, the cussed old will?” cried Doe.  “You’ve got up a cry about it, and there’s them that won’t let it drop so easy.  What’s an heir at law agin a will?  You take the gal back, and the cry is, ’Where’s the true gal, the major’s daughter?’ I reckon, you’ll find you’re jist got yourself into a trap of your own making!”

“In that case,” said the stranger, with a grin, “we must e’en act like honest men, and find (after much hunting and rummaging, mind you!) the major’s last will.”

“But you burned it!” exclaimed Doe:  “you told me so yourself.”

“I told you so, Jack; but that was a little bit of innocent deception, to make you easy.  I told you so; but I kept it, to guard against accidents.  And here it is, Jack,” added the speaker, drawing from amid the folds of his blanket a roll of parchment, which he proceeded very deliberately to spread upon the table:  “The very difficulty you mention occurred to me; I saw it would not do to raise the devil, without retaining the power to lay him.  Here then is the will, that settles the affair to your liking.  The girl and the younker are co-heirs together; but the latter dying intestate, you understand, the whole falls into the lap of the former.  Are you easy now, honest Jack?  Will this satisfy you all is safe?”

“It is jist the thing to an iota,” ejaculated Doe, in whom the sight of the parchment seemed to awaken cupidity and exultation together:  “there’s no standing agin it in any court in Virginnee!”

“Right, my boy,” said his associate.  “But where is the girl?  I must see her.”

“In the cabin with Wenonga’s squaw, right over agin the Council-house,” replied Doe; adding with animation, “but I’m agin your going nigh her, till we settle up accounts jist as honestly as any two sich d—­d rascals can.  I say, by G—­, I must know how the book stands, and how I’m to finger the snacks:  for snacks is the word, or the bargain’s no go.”

“Well,—­we can talk of this on the morrow.”

“To-night’s the time,” said Doe:  “there’s nothing like having an honest understanding of matters afore-hand.  I’m not going to be cheated,—­not meaning no offence in saying so; and I’ve jist made up my mind to keep the gal out of your way, till we’ve settled things to our liking.”