“You shall have it,” said Boone.  Both Glenn and Roughgrove looked inquiringly at the speaker.  “We will not start to-night,” continued he.  “It would be useless.  We could not overtake them, and if we did, it would cause them to put Mary to death, that they might escape our vengeance the more easily.  I have duly considered the matter.  We must rest here to-night, and rise refreshed in the morning.  We will then set out on their trail, and I solemnly pledge my word never to return without bringing the poor child back unharmed.”

“I hope my head’ll be well by morning,” said Joe.

“I know it will be well enough,” said Glenn; “so you need entertain no hope of being left behind.”

“Now, Sneak, a word with you,” said Boone.  “I think you would do almost any thing for my sake—­”

“If I wouldn’t, I wish I may be dod—­”

“Stop!” continued Boone, interrupting him.

“Jest ax me to cut off my little finger,” said Sneak, “and if I don’t do it, I wish I may be dod—­”

“Stop!” again interposed Boone.  “My first request is one that poor Mary asked me to make.  I know it will be a severe trial.”

“Name it,” cried Sneak, “and if it’s to job out one of my eyes, dod rot me if I don’t do it!”

“Hear me,” continued Boone; “she desired me to ask you not to use that ugly word dod-rot any more.”

“Hay!” exclaimed Sneak, his eyes dilating, and his mouth falling wide open.

“I know it will be a hard matter,” said Boone; “but Mary thinks you have a good and brave heart, and she says you are the only one among us that uses bad words.”

“I’d go my death for that gal, or any other female woman in the settlement, any day of my life.  And as she wants me to swaller them words, that was born with me, dod—­I mean, I wish I may be—­indeed, I’ll be starved to death if I don’t do it! only when I’m raven mad at something, and then I can’t help it.”

“Very well,” said Boone.  “Now I have a request of my own to make.”

“Sing it out! dod—­no—­nothing!  I didn’t say it—­but I’ll do what you want me to,” said Sneak.

“I think you will not suffer for the want of sleep,” continued Boone; “and I wish you to go out and get as many of the neighbours to join us as possible.  You can go to three or four houses by midnight, sleep a little, and meet us here, or in the prairie, in the morning.”

“I shall cut stick—­if I don’t I wish I may be do—­I—­indeed I will!” and before he ceased speaking he was rushing through the gate.

The little party then took a hasty repast, and, throwing themselves on the couches, endeavoured to sleep.  Boone and Joe were soon wrapped in slumber; but neither Roughgrove nor Glenn, for a great length of time, could find repose.

“Strive to be composed, my friend; all will be well,” said Glenn, when the disconsolate old ferryman gave vent to numerous heart-rending sighs.