music, but
he looked 'twixt his horse's ears and made out not to notice. His stirrup
brished Red Jacket's elbow, and Red Jacket whispered up, "My brother knows
it is not easy to be a chief?" Big Hand shot just one look at him and
nodded. Then there was a scuffle behind us over some one who wasn't hooting
at Washington loud enough to please the people. We went away to be out of
the fight. Indians won't risk being hit.'

'What do they do if they are?' Dan asked.

'Kill, of course. That's why they have such proper manners. Well, then,
coming home by Drinker's Alley to get a new shirt which a French
Vicomte's lady was washing to take the stiff out of (I'm always choice
in my body-linen) a lame Frenchman pushes a paper of buttons at us. He
hadn't long landed in the United States, and please would we buy. He
sure-ly was a pitiful scrattel--his coat half torn off, his face cut,
but his hands steady; so I knew it wasn't drink. He said his name was
Peringuey, and he'd been knocked about in the crowd round the
Stadt--Independence Hall. One thing leading to another we took him up to
Toby's rooms, same as Red Jacket had taken me the year before. The
compliments he paid to Toby's Madeira wine fairly conquered the old man,
for he opened a second bottle and he told this Monsieur Peringuey all
about our great stove dispute in the Church. I remember Pastor Meder and
Brother Adam Goose dropped in, and although they and Toby were direct
opposite sides regarding stoves, yet this Monsieur Peringuey he made 'em
feel as if he thought each one was in the right of it. He said he had
been a clergyman before he had to leave France. He admired at Toby's
fiddling, and he asked if Red Jacket, sitting by the spinet, was a
simple Huron. Senecas aren't Hurons, they're Iroquois, of course, and
Toby told him so. Well, then, in due time he arose and left in a style
which made us feel he'd been favouring us, instead of us feeding him.
I've never seen that so strong before--in a man. We all talked him over
but couldn't make head or tail of him, and Red Jacket come out to walk
with me to the French quarter when I was due to fiddle at a party.
Passing Drinker's Alley again we saw a naked window with a light in it,
and there sat our button-selling Monsieur Peringuey throwing dice all
alone, right hand against left.

'Says Red Jacket, keeping back in the dark, "Look at his face!"

'I was looking. I protest to you I wasn't frightened like I was when Big
Han