"I left de village one hot afternoon, and walked
all de way t'rough de woods to get to de cabin to help dem poor folks.
We had mighty hard times. I catched a cold and couldn't shtop my
dunderin' nose one night when it wanted to shneeze, and dat's de way de
Shawnee catched me. Twan't so bad arter all," added Hans Vanderbum,
musingly, "'cause if it wasn't for dat I wouldn't got my
Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock."
"How soon go back?" asked Oonomoo.
"To de village, do you mean?"
"Yeh."
"Any time afore noon will does, so Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock gits
de fish for our dinner."
"One, two hours," said the Huron, looking up at the sky, "den sun git
dere," pointing to the zenith. "Shawnees know here?"
"Know me here? Guesses not; don't care if dey does, nor dey doesn't
care neider."
"Shawnees won't come here?"
"No, no, Oonomoo, you needn't be afraid--"
"Afraid who?" demanded the Huron, with quick fierceness. "Oonomoo
never run afore one--two--t'ree--dozen Shawnees. He only runs when dey
comes like de leaves in de woods."
"Dey won't come like de leaves. If dey does, why you can leave too,
and I t'inks you know how to use dem legs dat you've got tacked onto
you. I t'inks you run as fast as me."
"So I t'inks," replied the Indian, with a grin.
"Dere's no mistake but dem Shawnees would like to get your scalp,
Oonomoo."
"Two--t'ree--hundreds--all Shawnees like to git Oonomoo's scalp--nebber
git him--Oonomee die in his lodge--scalp on his head," said the Huron,
proudly.
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