“Oh!—­the spring is outside the gate, certainly; but means might be found to make a covered way to it; and then the stream winds round directly underneath the rocks, behind the house, and wafer could be raised from that, by means of a rope.  Our rifles would count for something, too, in drawing water, as well as in drawing blood.”

“Good.—­Rifle got long arm.  He talk so, Ingin mind him.  When you t’ink red-skin come ag’in your fort, cap’in, now you got him done?”

“A long time first, I hope, Nick.  We are at peace with France, again; and I see no prospect of any new quarrel, very soon.  So long as the French and English are at peace, the red men will not dare to touch either.”

“Dat true as missionary!  What a soldier do, cap’in, if so much peace?  Warrior love a war-path.”

“I wish it were not so, Nick.  But my hatchet is buried, I hope, for ever.”

“Nick hope cap’in know where to find him, if he want to?  Very bad to put anyt’ing where he forget; partic’larly tomahawk.  Sometime quarrel come, like rain, when you don’t tink.”

“Yes, that also cannot be denied.  Yet, I fear the next quarrel will be among ourselves, Nick.—­The government at home, and the people of the colonies, are getting to have bad blood between them.”

“Dat very queer!  Why pale-face mo’der and pale-face darter no love one anoder, like red-skin?”

“Really, Nick, you are somewhat interrogating this evening; but, my squaw must be a little desirous of seeing the inside of her house, as well as its outside, and I must refer you to that honest fellow, yonder, for an answer.  His name is Mike; I hope he and you will always be good friends.”

So saying, the captain nodded in a friendly manner, and led Mrs. Willoughby towards the hut, taking a foot-path that was already trodden firm, and which followed the sinuosities of the stream, to which it served as a sort of a dyke.  Nick took the captain at his word, and turning about he met the county Leitrim-man, with an air of great blandness, thrusting out a hand, in the pale-face fashion, as a sign of amity, saying, at the same time—­

“How do, Mike?—­Sago—­Sago—­grad you come—­good fellow to drink Santa Cruz, wid Nick.”

“How do, Mike!” exclaimed the other, looking at the Tuscarora with astonishment, for this was positively the first red man the Irishman had ever seen.  “How do Mike!  Ould Nick be ye?—­well—­ye look pretty much as I expected to see you—­pray, how did ye come to know my name?”

“Nick know him—­know every t’ing.  Grad to see you, Mike—­hope we live together like good friend, down yonder, up here, over dere.”

“Ye do, do ye!  Divil burn me, now, if I want any sich company.  Ould Nick’s yer name, is it?”

“Old Nick—­young Nick—­saucy Nick; all one, all to’ther.  Make no odd what you call; I come.”

“Och, yer a handy one!  Divil trust ye, but ye’ll come when you arn’t wanted, or yer not of yer father’s own family.  D’ye live hereabouts, masther Ould Nick?”