"I'd give ye one poundin' that ye'd remember, Emile Jazon, if I
could get to ye, ye old twisted-face, peeled-headed, crooked-
mouthed, aggravatin' scamp!" he exclaimed, not thinking how high
his naturally strong voice was lifted. "I can stand any fool but a
damn fool!"
Long-Hair heard the concluding epithet and understood its meaning.
Moreover, he thought himself the target at which it was so
energetically launched. Wherefore he promptly turned back and gave
Kenton a kicking that made his body resound not unlike a drum.
And here it was that Oncle Jazon overreached himself. He was so
delighted at Kenton's luck that he broke forth giggling and
thereby drew against his own ribs a considerable improvement of
Long-Hair's pedal applications.
"Ventrebleu!" whined the old man, when the Indian had gone away
again. "Holy Mary! Jee-ru-sa-lem! They's nary bone o' me left
'at's not splintered as fine as toothpickers! S'pose yer satisfied
now, ain't ye, Si Kenton? Ef ye ain't I'm shore to satisfy ye the
fust time I git a chance at ye, ye blab-mouthed eejit!"
Before this conversation was ended a rain began to fall, and it
rapidly thickened from a desultory shower to a roaring downpour
that effectually quenched not only the fires around which the
savages were dancing, but the enthusiasm of the dancers as well.
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