"
In speaking the colloquial dialect of the American backwoodsmen,
Oncle Jazon, despite years of practice among them, gave to it a
creole lisp and some turns of pronunciation not to be indicated by
any form of spelling. It added to his talk a peculiar soft
drollery. When he spoke French it was mostly that of the COUREURS
DE BOIS, a PATOIS which still lingers in out-of-the-way nooks of
Louisiana.
"For my part," said Kenton, "I am with ye, old boy, in anything ye
want to do. But now ye've got to tell me everything. I see that
ye're keeping something back. What is it?" He glanced sidewise
slyly at Oncle Jazon.
Beverley was frank to a fault; but somehow his heart tried to keep
Alice all to itself. He hesitated; then--
"I broke my parole with Governor Hamilton," he said. "He forced me
to do it. I feel altogether justified. I told him beforehand that
I should certainly leave Vincennes and go get a force to capture
and kill him; and I'll do it, Simon Kenton, I'll do it!"
"I see, I see," Kenton assented, "but what was the row about? What
did he do to excite ye--to make ye feel justified in breakin' over
yer parole in that high-handed way? Fitz, I know ye too well to be
fooled by ye--you've got somethin' in mind that ye don't want to
tell. Well, then don't tell it. Oncle Jazon and I will go it
blind, won't we, Jazon?"
"Blind as two moles," said the old man; "but as for thet secret,"
he added, winking both eyes at once, "I don't know as it's so
mighty hard to guess.
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