Long-Hair
himself, however, taunted him with accusations of unfaithfulness
in carrying out some very inhuman contracts, and to add a terrible
sting, volunteered the statement that poor Barlow's scalp had
served his turn in the place of Beverley's.
With conditions so hideous to contend against, Beverley, of
course, had no possible means of succoring the condemned savage.
"Him a kickin' yer ribs clean inter ye, an' a makin' ye run the
ga'ntlet, an' here ye air a tryin' to save 'is life!" whined Oncle
Jazon, "W'y man, I thought ye hed some senterments! Dast 'is Injin
liver, I kin feel them kicks what he guv me till yit. Ventrebleu!
que diable voulez-vous?"
Clark simply pushed Beverley's pleadings aside as not worth a
moment's consideration. He easily felt the fine bit of gratitude
at the bottom of it all; but there was too much in the other side
of the balance; justice, the discipline and confidence of his
little army, and the claim of the women and children on the
frontier demanded firmness in dealing with a case like Long-
Hair's.
"No, no," he said to Beverley, "I would do anything in the world
for you, Fitz, except to swerve an inch from duty to my country
and the defenceless people down yonder in Kentucky, I can't do it.
There's no use to press the matter further. The die is cast. That
brute's got to be killed, and killed dead.
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