deck, "what demon is it that possesses you, and drives
you to risk your neck at every turn?"

"The devil take you," retorted Doughby, "and your Red River water to
boot! Brr, brr! d----d bad water your Red River water, say I! No, no,
talk to me of Mississippi water.[5] If I am to be drowned, it sha'n't
be in the stinking Red River. I've a taste in my mouth as if I had
swallowed saltpetre and sulphur, with a dash of prussic acid. But tell
me," cried he to the passengers and sailors by whom he was surrounded,
"who gave him his settler? The deer, I mean. Who finished him?"

"Who?" repeated every body, "why, who but yourself, Mister Doughby?"

"I!" replied Doughby, shaking his head, "I had something else to do
besides knifing the stag. No, no, I had plenty to think of to keep
away from the tree-trunk. Besides, I let the knife fall at the very
moment the beast dragged me out of the boat. But see there, boys!"
added he, pointing to the deer, which was at this moment hoisted upon
deck.

The animal had a deep knife wound in the belly, and the tendons of the
hind legs were cut right across.

"That's the Indian's handiwork," said Doughby.

"What Indian?" cried we all.

"The Indian whom Rolby was going to knock on the head."

"I thought he wanted to chouse us out of the deer," said Rolby; "I saw
his bacon-face appear for a minute from behind the tree-trunk, and at
first I took it for a log, but I soon saw it was a redskin. It
wouldn't have been a great harm if I had sent a bit of lead through
him. What business has an Injun to meddle, when gentlemen"----

"No great harm!" interrupted Doughby impatiently. "The Indian, I can
tell you----d'ye hear? Ralph Doughby tells you----has more real blood
in his little finger than ten such leather-chopped fellows as yourself
in their whole bodies, making all allowance for your white hide and
your citizenship, neither of which, by the way, are much better than
they should be. Ten times more, I tell you, and, if you don't believe
it, I'll let you know it. A fine fellow he is, that redskin. He saw
that I was at a pinch, and he came to help me when none of my own
friends were able. And now, see yonder, there he stands in his canoe
again, just as if he had done nothing but the most natural thing in
the world. Chouse us out of the deer, say ye; and who had a right to
hinder him if he had? The beast was bred in his woods as well as ours;
a fair field and no favour is our motto in old Kentuck.