“Stand back!” cried Jinks, “or thou art dead, young man!  Turn your horse into that receptacle of animals again, and go not toward the Bower of Nature!”

“Anan?” said the young man, calmly.

“So you pretend not to understand, do you!  Vile caitiff! advance one step at your peril—­try to go and complete arrangements for a matrimonial engagement at the Bower of Nature, and thou diest!”

Verty was getting angry.

“Mr. Jinks, you’d better get out of the way,” he said, calmly.

“Never! stand back!  Attempt to push your animal toward me, and I slaughter him.  Base caitiff!  Know that the rival you have yonder is myself!  Know that she loves you not, and is now laughing at you, however much she may have made you believe she loved you!  She is a wretch!”

Verty thought Mr. Jinks spoke of Redbud—­the dominant idea again—­and frowned.

“Yes! a perfidious, unfeeling traitoress,” observed Mr. Jinks, grimacing terribly; “and if thou makest a single step toward her, I will spit thee on my sword!”

Verty cocked his rifle, and placing the muzzle thereof on the Jinks’ breast, made a silent movement of his head, to the effect, that Mr. Jinks would consult his personal safety by ceasing to obstruct the way.

Jinks no sooner heard the click of the trigger, and saw the murderous muzzle directed towards his breast, than letting his sword fall, he started back with a horrified expression, crying, “murder!” with all the strength of his lungs; and even in his terror and excitement varied this expression by giving the alarm of “fire!”—­for what reason, he always declined to explain, even to his most intimate friends.

Verty did not even smile, though he remained for a moment motionless, looking at Mr. Jinks.

Then touching Cloud with his heel, he set forward again, followed by the dignified Longears.  As for Longears, we regret to say, that, on the occasion in question, he did not comport himself with that high decorum and stately courtesy which were such distinguishing traits in his elevated character.  His mouth slowly opened—­his lips curled around his long, white teeth, and his visage was shaken with a nervous tremor, as, looking over his shoulder, he went on in Cloud’s footsteps.  Longears was laughing—­positively laughing—­at Mr. Jinks.

That gentleman ceased crying “fire!” and “murder!” as soon as he came to the conclusion that there was no danger from the one or the other.  He picked up his sword, looked around him cautiously, and seeing that no one had observed his flight, immediately assumed his habitual air of warlike dignity, and extended his hand—­which held the hilt of his undrawn sword—­toward Verty.  This gesture was so tragic, and replete with such kingly ferocity, that Mr. Jinks was plainly devoting Verty to the infernal gods; and the curses trembling on his lips confirmed this idea.

He was standing in this melo-dramatic attitude, gazing after the Indian, when he felt a hand upon his shoulder, and heard a jovial voice say, “How are you, Jinks, my boy!  What’s the fun?”