“Not unless you have good care, I reckon,” returned the other; “for that thar wound o’ yourn arn’t none o’ the slightest; though I don’t want you to be skeered, for I’ve seen many a worse one cured.  But come, I’ll assist you down to yon cabin, and then I must be off—­for I’ve got a good distance to travel afore daylight to-morrow;” and bending down as he spoke, the veteran hunter placed his arms under the arms of the wounded man, and gently raised him upon his feet.

Although extremely weak from loss of blood, the latter, by this means of support, was enabled to walk, at a slow pace; and the two descended the hill—­the elder, the while, talking much, and endeavoring by his discourse to amuse and cheer up his companion.

“Why,” he continued, “you think your case a hard one, no doubt, stranger; but it’s nothing compared to what some of us old settlers have seen and been through with, without even winking, as one may say.  Within the last few year, I’ve seen a brother and a son shot by the infernal red-skins—­have lost I don’t know how many companions in the same way—­been shot at fifty times myself, and captured several; and yet you see here I am, hale and hearty, and just as eager, with Betsey’s permission, to talk to the varmints now as I war ten year ago.”

“But do you not weary of this fatiguing and dangerous mode of life?” inquired the other.

“Weary, stranger?  Lord bless ye! you’re but a young hunter to ax such a question as that.  Weary, friend?  Why I war born to it—­nursed to it—­had a rifle for a plaything; and the first thing I can remember particularly, war shooting a painter;[2] and it’s become as nateral and necessary as breathing; and when I get so I can’t follow the one, I want to quit the other.  Weary on’t, indeed!  Why, thar’s more real satisfaction in sarcumventing and scalping one o’ there red heathen, than in all the amusement you could scare up in a thick-peopled, peaceable settlement in a life time.”

“By the way,” said the other, “pray tell me how you chanced to be so opportune in saving my life?”

“Why, you must know, I war just crossing through the wood back here about a mile, on my way home from the Licks, when I came across the trail of two Indians, whom I ’spected war arter no good; and as Betsey war itching for something to do, I kind o’ kept on the same way, and happened round on the other side o’ this ridge, just as the red varmints fired.  I saw you fall, but could’nt see them, on account o’ the hill; but as I knowed they’d be for showing themselves soon, I got Betsey into a comfortable position, and waited as patiently as I could, until the ugly face of that rascal yonder showed clar; when I told her to speak to him, which she did in rale backwood’s dialect, and he died a answering her.  I then hurried round on the skirt of the wood, loading Betsey as I went; but finding the other varmint had got off, I hastened to you and found you senseless:  the rest you know.”