Of the Indians themselves, we presume it would be difficult to find, among all the tribes of America, five more blood-thirsty, villainous looking beings than the ones in question.  They were only partially dressed, after the manner of their tribe, with skins around their loins, extending down to their knees, and moccasins on their feet, leaving the rest of their bodies and limbs bare.  Around their waists were belts, for the tomahawk and scalping knife, at three of which now hung freshly taken scalps.  Their faces had been hideously painted for the war-path; but heat and perspiration had since out done the artist, by running the composition into streaks, in such a way as to give them the most diabolical appearance imaginable.  On each of their heads was a tuft of feathers, some of which had the appearance of having recently been scorched and blackened by fire, while their arms and bodies were here and there besmeared with blood.

The four around the fire were in high glee, as they roasted and devoured their meat, judging from their nods, and grins, and grunts of approbation, whenever their eyes glanced in the direction of their prisoners—­the effect of which was far from consoling to the matron of the latter; who, having eyed them for some time in indignant silence, at length burst forth with angry vehemence: 

“Well, now, jest grin, and jabber, and grin, like a pesky set o’ natural born monkeys, that’s ten times better nor you is any day of your good for nothing, sneaking lives.  Goodness, gracious, marsy on me alive!” continued the dame, whom the reader has doubtless recognized as Mrs. Younker; “I only jest wish you had to change places with me and Ben here for about five minutes; and ef I didn’t make your old daubed, nasty, villainous, unyarthly looking faces grin to another tune, I hope I may never be blessed with liberty agin in creation, as long as I live on the face o’ this univarsal yarth!”

“Ugh!” ejaculated the sentinel, turning towards the speaker, as she concluded her fierce tirade, at the same time placing his hand on the tomahawk in his belt with an angry gesture:  “Ugh! me squaw kill—­she no stop much talky!”

“You’d kill me, would ye? you mean, dirty, ripscallious looking varmint of the woods you, that don’t know a pin from a powder horn!” rejoined the undaunted Mrs. Younker, in a vehement tone:  “You’d kill me for using the freedom of tongue, as these blessed Colonies is this moment fighting for with the tarnal Britishers?  You’d kill me, would ye?  Well, it’s jest my first nateral come at opinion, as I tolled Ben here, not more’n a quarter o’ an hour ago, that you war jest mean enough for any thing, as ever war invented, in the whole univarsal yarth o’ creation—­so ef you do kill me, I won’t be in the leastest grain disappinted, no how.”

“Don’t, Dorothy—­don’t irritate the savage for nothing at all!” said her husband, who, raising his head at the first remark of the Indian, now saw in his fierce, flashing eyes, angry gestures, and awful contortions of visage, that which boded the sudden fulfillment of his threat:  “Don’t irritate him, and git murdered for your pains, Dorothy!  Why can’t you be more quiet?”