ou--Oh! Oh, Mass' Capen, done, done," he cried piteously,
changing his tone and appealing to my father, as he saw him take out and
open his great gardening knife, which was as sharp as a razor.

"Be quiet," said my father; "I will not hurt you much."

"No, no," whimpered Pomp. "Mass' George, ask massa not cut arm off.
Cut off lil toe, Massa Capen; cut off um foot. What poor lil nigger do
wif ony one arm?"

"Be quiet, you cowardly little rascal," said my father, smiling, as with
one sharp cut he took off the head of the arrow, and then easily drew
the shaft back from where it had passed right through Pomp's black hand.

As soon as he saw the arrow-head cut off, and understood what my father
meant, Pomp knelt there as coolly as could be.

"Hurt much?" said my father, pressing his finger and thumb on the wound
at the back and palm of the boy's hand.

"Um tickle, sah: dat all. Pomp tought you cut um arm off. Hi! You
dah," he shouted excitedly; "you wait till Pomp get lil bit of rag round
um hand, you see how I serb you. Yah! You big coward Injum tief."

My father rapidly drew his handkerchief from his pocket, tore a piece
off, divided it in two, and making the two pieces into little pads,
applied one each to the back and front of the boy's hand before binding
them securely there.

As soon as this was done, Pomp looked up at him with his eyes sparkling
and showing his teeth.

"Pomp not mind a bit," he said. "Here, Mass' George, come here an'
shoot um. Let Pomp hab de oars."

"No," said my father. "Sit down there in the bottom of the boat. Hah!"

He seized his gun and fired; then caught up mine, waited till the smoke
had risen a little, and fired again, a shot coming almost at the same
moment from the other boat.

It was quite time, for the Indians, encouraged by the cessation of the
firing, and seeing that some one was wounded, were coming on well
abreast of us. But the first shot warned them, and the two which
followed sent them once more back under cover, leaving one of their
number, to Pomp's great delight, motionless among the canes.

"Ha, ha!" he laughed; "you cotch it dis time, sah. How you like feel de
shot, eh? You no 'tick arrow froo poor lil nigger hand again, you no--
Oh, Mass' George, look dah!"

For the prostrate man suddenly rolled over, half rose, darted amongst
the canes, and we could see by his movements that he was rapidly getting
ahead. Then another and another darted to him