“You tarnation critturs!” he at last bawled, with the accents of one driven to desperation, “if there a’n’t no dodging you, then there a’n’t.  Here’s for you, you everlasting varmints—­due your darndest!”

With that he clubbed his rifle, and advanced towards the party in what seemed a paroxysm of insane fury, brandishing the weapon and rolling his eyes with a ferocity that could have only arisen from his being in that happy frame of mind which is properly termed “frightened out of fear.”

“How, you villain!” said Roland, in amazement, “do you take us for wild Indians?”

“What, by the holy hokey, and a’n’t you?” cried the stranger, his rage giving way to the most lively transports; “Christian men!” he exclaimed in admiration, “and one of ’em a niggur, and two of em wimming! oh hokey!  You’re Capting Forrester, and I’ve heerd on you!  Thought there was nothing in the wood but Injuns, blast their ugly picturs! and blast him, Sy Jones, as was, that brought me among ’em!  And now I’m talking of ’em, Capting, don’t stop to ax questions, but run,—­cut and run, Capting, for there’s an everlasting sight of ’em behind me!—­six of ’em, Capting, or my name a’n’t Pardon Dodge,—­six of ’em,—­all except one, and him I shot, the blasted crittur! for, you see, they followed me behind, and they cut me off before:  and there was no dodging ’em,—­(Dodge’s my name, and dodging’s my natur’)—­without getting lost in the woods; and it was either losing myself or my scalp; and so that riz my ebenezer, and I banged the first of ’em all to smash—­if I didn’t, then it a’n’t no matter!”

“What, in Heaven’s name,” said Roland, overcome by the man’s volubility and alarm together,—­“what means all this?  Are there Indians behind us?”

“Five of ’em, and the dead feller,—­shocking long-legged crittur he was; jumped out of a bush, and seized me by the bridle—­hokey! how he skeared me!—­Gun went off of her own accord, and shot him into bits as small as fourpence-ha’pennies.  Then there was a squeaking and squalling, and the hull of e’m let fly at me; and then, I cut on the back track, and they took and took atter; and I calculate, if we wait here a quarter of a minute longer, they will be on us jist like devils and roaring lions.—­But where shall we run?  You can’t gin us a hint how to make way through the woods?—­Shocking bad woods to be lost in!  Bad place here for talking, Capting,—­right ’twixt two fires,—­six Injuns behind (and one of ’em dead), and an almighty passel before,—­the Ford’s full on ’em!”

“What!” said Roland, “did you pass the Ford? and is not Colonel Johnson, with his emigrants, there?”

“Not a man on ’em; saw ’em streaking through the mud, half way to Jackson’s.  Everlasting lying critturs, them emigrants! told me there was no Injuns on the road! when what should I do but see a hull grist on ’em dodging among the bushes at the river, to surround me, the tarnation critturs.  But I kinder had the start on ’em, and I whipped, and I cut, and I run, and I dodged.  And so says I, ’I’ve beat you, you tarnation scalping varmints!’ when up jumps that long-legged feller, and the five behind him; and, blast ’em, that riz my corruption.  And I—­”