“There lies all that is left of him, beneath that greatcoat,” returned the guide, who then briefly related the manner of the Lieutenant’s death.  “The Tuscarora was as venemous in his blow as a rattler, though he failed to give the warning,” continued Pathfinder.  “I’ve seen many a desperate fight, and several of these sudden outbreaks of savage temper; but never before did I see a human soul quit the body more unexpectedly, or at a worse moment for the hopes of the dying man.  His breath was stopped with the lie on his lips, and the spirit might be said to have passed away in the very ardor of wickedness.”

Cap listened with a gaping mouth; and he gave two or three violent hems, as the other concluded, like one who distrusted his own respiration.

“This is an uncertain and uncomfortable life of yours, Master Pathfinder, what between the fresh water and the savages,” said he; “and the sooner I get quit of it, the higher will be my opinion of myself.  Now you mention it, I will say that the man ran for that berth in the rocks, when the enemy first bore down upon us, with a sort of instinct that I thought surprising in an officer; but I was in too great a hurry to follow, to log the whole matter accurately.  God bless me!  God bless me! —­ a traitor, do you say, and ready to sell his country, and to a rascally Frenchman too?”

“To sell anything; country, soul, body, Mabel, and all our scalps; and no ways particular, I’ll engage, as to the purchaser.  The countrymen of Captain Flinty-heart here were the paymasters this time.”

“Just like ’em; ever ready to buy when they can’t thrash, and to run when they can do neither.”

Monsieur Sanglier lifted his cap with ironical gravity, and acknowledged the compliment with an expression of polite contempt that was altogether lost on its insensible subject.  But Pathfinder had too much native courtesy, and was far too just-minded, to allow the attack to go unnoticed.

“Well, well,” he interposed, “to my mind there is no great difference ’atween an Englishman and a Frenchman, after all.  They talk different tongues, and live under different kings, I will allow; but both are human, and feel like human beings, when there is occasion for it.”

Captain Flinty-heart, as Pathfinder called him, made another obeisance; but this time the smile was friendly, and not ironical; for he felt that the intention was good, whatever might have been the mode of expressing it.  Too philosophical, however, to heed what a man like Cap might say or think, he finished his breakfast, without allowing his attention to be again diverted from that important pursuit.

“My business here was principally with the Quartermaster,” Cap continued, as soon as he had done regarding the prisoner’s pantomime.  “The Sergeant must be near his end, and I have thought he might wish to say something to his successor in authority before he finally departed.  It is too late, it would seem; and, as you say, Pathfinder, the Lieutenant has truly gone before.”