At this stirring appeal, uttered with indescribable energy and passion, though only in a whisper, Nathan’s countenance changed from dark to pale, and his arm trembled in the soldier’s grasp.  He turned upon him also a look of extraordinary wildness, and muttered betwixt his teeth an answer that betokened as much confusion of mind as agitation of spirits:  “Friend,” he said, “whoever thee is, it matters nothing to thee what might happen, or has happened, in such case made and provided.  I am a man, thee is another; thee has thee conscience, and I have mine.  If thee will fight, fight; settle it with thee conscience.  If thee don’t like to see thee kinswoman murdered, and thee thinks thee has a call to battle, do thee best with sword and pistol, gun and tomahawk; kill and slay to thee liking:  if thee conscience finds no fault with thee, neither will I. But as for me, let the old Adam of the flesh stir me as it may, I have no one to fight for,—­wife or child, parent or kinsman, I have none:  if thee will hunt the world over, thee will not find one in it that is my kinsman or relative.”

“But I ask you,” said Roland, somewhat surprised at the turn of Nathan’s answer, “I ask you, if you had a wife or child—­”

“But I have not,” cried Nathan, interrupting him vehemently; “and therefore, friend, why should thee speak of them?  Them that are dead, let them rest:  they can never cry to me more.—­Think of thee own blood, and do what seems best to thee for the good thereof.”

“Assuredly I would,” said Roland, who, however much his curiosity was roused by the unexpected agitation of his guide, had little time to think of any affairs but his own,—­“Assuredly I would, could I only count upon your hearty assistance.  I tell you, man, my blood boils to look at yonder crawling serpents, and to think of the ferocious object with which they are dogging at my heels; and I would give a year of my life,—­ay, if the whole number of years were but ten,—­one whole year of all,—­for the privilege of paying them for their villany beforehand.”

“Thee has thee two men to back thee,” said Nathan, who had now recovered his composure; “and with these two men, if thee is warlike enough, thee might do as much mischief as thee conscience calls for.  But, truly, it becomes not a man of peace like me to speak of strife and bloodshed—­Yet, truly,” he added, hastily, “I think there must mischief come of this meeting; for, verily, the evil creatures are leaving thee tracks, and coming towards us!”

“They stop!” said Forrester, eagerly,—­“they look about them,—­they have lost the track,—­they are coming this way!  You will not fight, yet you may counsel.—­What shall I do?  Shall I attack them?  What can I do?”

“Friend,” replied Nathan, briskly, “I can’t tell what thee can do; but I can tell thee what a man of Kentucky, a wicked fighter of Injuns, would do in such a case made and provided.  He would betake him to the thicket where he had hidden his women and horses, and he would lie down with his fighting men behind a log; and truly, if these ill-disposed Injun-men were foolish enough to approach, he would fire upon them with his three guns, taking them by surprise, and perhaps, wicked man, killing the better half of them on the spot:  and then—­”