ap number three, thrilling with wolves; and
where the war-path led into the shades of night, there the woods were
alive with ghosts. We shall, therefore, make our dip into the medley
just at that point where the narrator, having brought his listeners all
agape to the hazardous edge of ambush and battle subsides into the
possible; the story now rising of itself into the wonderful, and having
no great need of exaggeration or embellishment to make it spicy.

* * * * *

"Betsy Grumbo," ses I to my gun, "you mus' put lead through two ob de
varmints on de log, ef you cain't through all four." Bang barks Betsy;
up jumps all de Injuns, two falls back dead behin' de log, two goes
runnin' down de hill a-yellin' as ef de Ol' Scratch wus arter 'em wid a
sharp stick. ["H-yah, h-yah, h-yah!" Audience.] "I yi, you dogs!" says
I, lungin' out uf de bushes. "Whoo-oop!" yells big Injun, a-jerkin' his
tommyhawk out uf de tree and flingin' it whizz at my head. I knocks it
away wid my ax an' drives on. Here comes anudder a-whizzin'. Knocks dat
off, too, still a-drivin' on at 'im. "I yi, you dogs!" Anudder tommyhawk
ready to fly. I knocks dat out de big Injun's han'. Big Injun jumps
back'ards, I jumps for'ards, my ax high up an' ready fur a cleaver. No
chance fur big Injun; ef he starts to run, it's a split in de back; ef
he jumps to one side, it's a gash in de neck. De cleaver's a-comin'
down, when here, wid a duck uf de head, comes Injun right at me, his
shoulder under my arm. Down draps de ax, a-stickin' in de groun' atwixt
his heels. Bes' thing he could a-done fur hisse'f--cunnin' as a fox.

Den, ladies an' gen'lemen, we clinches, an' away we goes a-plungin' an'
a-whirlin'; through de bushes an' through de fire, roun' an' roun' de
logs, roun' an' roun' de trees, roun' an' roun' de hill. Now I tosses
'im up tel his heels kicked de lim's uf de trees, he's so long; but
eb'ry time I thinks I's gwine to bring him down kerwollop, down he comes
wid all his feet under him, like a cat. Activest thing I eber seed--he's
so long. Den he picks me up an' shakes me, dang-a-lang-a-downy-yo, as ef
I's nothin' but a string-j'inted limber-jack. But when I at's him ag'in,
to lock legs or kick ankles, dar he's 'way off yander, a-tippin' it on
his toes, like a killdee. No gittin' a-nigh him, he's so active, he's so
long.

By an' by I happens to look 'roun'. Dar's de dead varmint in de blue
coat an' ruffled shirt up ag'in, wid