“In order to provide for its return.  He who never thought of the evil day, in the hour of his prosperity, would find that he has forgotten, not only a duty, but the course of wisdom.”

“He not wise!” said Nick, sternly.  “Cap’in pale-face chief.  He got garrison; got soldier; got musket.  Well, he flog warrior’s back; make blood come.  Dat bad enough; worse to put finger on ole sore, and make ’e pain, and ’e shame, come back ag’in.”

“Perhaps it would have been more generous, Nick, to have said nothing about it; but, you see how I am situated; an enemy without, my men deserting, a bad look-out, and one finding his way into my very court-yard, and I ignorant of the means.”

“Nick tell cap’in all about means.  If red-men outside, shoot ’em; if garrison run away, flog garrison; if don’t know, l’arn; but, don’t flog back, ag’in, on ole sore!”

“Well, well, say no more about it, Nick.  Here is a dollar to keep you in rum, and we will talk of other matters.”

Nick heeded not the money, though it was held before his eyes, some little time, to tempt him.  Perceiving that the Tuscarora was now acting as a warrior and a chief, which Nick would do, and do well, on occasion, the captain pocketed the offering, and regulated his own course accordingly.

“At all events, I have a right to insist on knowing, first, by what means you entered the palisades; and, second, what business has brought you here, at night, and so suddenly.”

“Ask Nick, cap’in, all he right to ask; but, don’t touch ole flog.  How I cross palisade?  Where your sentinel to stop Injin?  One at gate; well, none all round, t’other place.  Get in, up here, down dere, over yonder.  Ten, twenty, t’ree spot—­s’pose him tree? climb him.  S’pose him palisade?—­climb him, too.  What help?—­Soldier out at gate when Nick get over t’other end!  Come in court, too, when he want.  Half gate half no gate.  So easy, ’shamed to brag of.  Cap’in once Nick’s friend—­went on same war-path—­dat in ole time.  Both warrior; both went ag’in French garrison.  Well; who crept in, close by cannon, open gate, let pale-men in.  Great Tuscarora do dat; no flog, den—­no talk of ole sore, dat night!”

“This is all true enough, Wyandotte”—­This was Nick’s loftiest appellation; and a grim, but faint smile crossed his visage, as he heard it, again, in the mouth of one who had known him when its sound carried terror to the hearts of his enemies—­“This is all true, Wyandotte, and I have even given you credit for it.  On that occasion you were bold as the lion, and as cunning as a fox—­you were much honoured for that exploit.”

“No ole sore in dat, um?” cried Nick, in a way so startling as to sicken Mrs. Willoughby to the heart.  “No call Nick dog, dat night.  He all warrior, den—­all face; no back.”

“I have said you were honoured for your conduct, Nick, and paid for it.  Now, let me know what has brought you here to-night, and whence you come.”