s words that Mr. Binkus was a man of imagination,
but--again he is talking.

"I were on my way to a big Injun Pow-wow at Swegache fer Sir Bill--ayes
it were in Feb'uary, the time o' the great moon o' the hard snow. Now
they be some good things 'bout Injuns but, like young brats, they take
natural to deviltry. Ye may have my hide fer sole luther if ye ketch
me in an Injun village with a load o' fire-water. Some Injuns is
smart, an' gol ding their pictur's! they kin talk like a cat-bird. A
skunk has a han'some coat an' acts as cute as a kitten but all the
same, which thar ain't no doubt o' it, his friendship ain't wuth a dam.
It's a kind o' p'ison. Injuns is like skunks, if ye trust 'em they'll
sp'ile ye. They eat like beasts an' think like beasts, an' live like
beasts, an' talk like angels. Paint an' bear's grease, an' squaw-fun,
an' fur, an' wampum, an' meat, an' rum, is all they think on. I've et
their vittles many a time an' I'm obleeged to tell ye it's hard work.
Too much hair in the stew! They stick their paws in the pot an' grab
out a chunk an' chaw it an' bolt it, like a dog, an' wipe their hands
on their long hair. They brag 'bout the power o' their jaws, which I
ain't denyin' is consid'able, havin' had an ol' buck bite off the top
o' my left ear when I were tied fast to a tree which--you hear to
me--is a good time to learn Injun language 'cause ye pay 'tention
clost. They ain't got no heart er no mercy. How they kin grind up a
captive, like wheat in the millstuns, an' laugh, an' whoop at the sight
o' his blood! Er turn him into smoke an' ashes while they look on an'
laugh--by mighty!--like he were singin' a funny song. They'd be men
an' women only they ain't got the works in 'em. Suthin' missin'. By
the hide an' horns o' the devil! I ain't got no kind o' patience with
them mush hearts who say that Ameriky belongs to the noble red man an'
that the whites have no right to bargain fer his land. Gol ding their
pictur's! Ye might as well say that we hain't no right in the woods
'cause a lot o' bears an' painters got there fust, which I ain't
a-sayin' but what bears an' painters has their rights."

Mr. Binkus paused again to put another coal on his pipe. Then he
listened a moment and looked up at the rocks above their heads, for
they were camped in a cave at the mouth of which they had built a small
fire, in a deep gorge. Presently he went on:

"I found a heap o' Injuns at Swegache--Mohawks, Sen