Much as this was to be deprecated in any event, it was suicidal amongst these infant settlements by reason of the vicinage and antagonism of the fierce and only half-subdued Cherokees, sullenly nourishing schemes of revenge for their recent defeat and many woes.  But when he urged this upon the attention of the herders, the retort came quick and pointed:  “We ain’t talkin’ ’bout no Injuns!—­the Cherokees never meddled with our cattle!  We’ll settle about the stampede first, an’ ’tend to the Cherokees in good time—­all in good time!”

Richard Mivane was not possessed of much affinity with the ruder primitive qualities, the stalwart candor and uncultured forces of the natural man; and never had these inherent elements appeared to less advantage in his mind than when he was brought into disastrous conflict with them.  He only held his ground for form’s sake, and often his voice was overborne by the clamors of many responsive tones, all blaring and arguing together.  Much that was said he could not hear, and refrained from speaking when he perceived from the loud contending faces that he was denied for the nonce a rejoinder.  But ever and anon the silver vibrations of the little linguister’s voice rose into the big bass tumult as she rehearsed what had been said for her grandfather’s benefit, and the angry rush of sound stopped with an abrupt recoil for a moment, then surged on as before.

She looked very mild and petite among them, quite like a sedate child, her cheeks pinker than any of the rose tints of her apparel that were her pride, her lips red and breathlessly parted, her eyes bright and very watchful, her golden brown hair all red gold in the flicker of the fire.  There was one wild taunting threat that she did not repeat, as if she thought it of no consequence,—­the threat of personal violence against Ralph Emsden.  They had found out his name patly enough from their own messenger to Blue Lick Station.  They would take out their grudge against him on his hide, they averred,—­if they had to go all the way to Blue Lick to get it!

Now and again they sufficiently remembered that indeterminate quantum of courtesy which they called their “manners” to interpolate “No offense to you, sir,” or “Begging the lady’s pardon.”  Throughout she preserved a cool, almost uncomprehending, passive manner; and it was in one of the moments of a heady tumult of words, in which they sometimes involved themselves beyond all interpretation or distinguishment, that she observed with a sort of childish inconsequence that they could get Ralph Emsden easily enough if they would go to Blue Lick Station,—­he was there now, and his arm and shoulder were so hurt that he would not be able to make off,—­they could get him easily enough, that is, if the French did not raze Blue Lick Station before the herders could reach there.

If a bomb had exploded in the midst of the hearthstone, the astonishment that ensued upon this simple statement could not have been greater.  A sudden blank silence supervened.  A dozen excited infuriated faces, the angry contortions of the previous moment still stark upon their features, were bent upon her while their eyes stared only limitless amazement.