nd led Mrs.
Willoughby towards the hut, taking a foot-path that was already trodden
firm, and which followed the sinuosities of the stream, to which it
served as a sort of a dyke. Nick took the captain at his word, and
turning about he met the county Leitrim-man, with an air of great
blandness, thrusting out a hand, in the pale-face fashion, as a sign of
amity, saying, at the same time--

"How do, Mike?--Sago--Sago--grad you come--good fellow to drink Santa
Cruz, wid Nick."

"How do, Mike!" exclaimed the other, looking at the Tuscarora with
astonishment, for this was positively the first red man the Irishman
had ever seen. "How do Mike! Ould Nick be ye?--well--ye look pretty
much as I expected to see you--pray, how did ye come to know _my_
name?"

"Nick know him--know every t'ing. Grad to see you, Mike--hope we live
together like good friend, down yonder, up here, over dere."

"Ye do, do ye! Divil burn me, now, if I want any sich company. Ould
Nick's yer name, is it?"

"Old Nick--young Nick--saucy Nick; all one, all to'ther. Make no odd
what you call; I come."

"Och, yer a handy one! Divil trust ye, but ye'll come when you arn't
wanted, or yer not of yer father's own family. D'ye live hereabouts,
masther Ould Nick?"

"Live here--out yonder--in he hut, in he wood--where he want. Make no
difference to Nick."

Michael now drew back a pace or two, keeping his eyes fastened on the
other intently, for he actually expected to see some prodigious and
sudden change in his appearance. When he thought he had got a good
position for manly defence or rapid retreat, as either might become
necessary the county Leitrim-man put on a bolder front and resumed the
discourse.

"If it's so indifferent to ye where ye dwell," asked Mike, "why can't
you keep at home, and let a body carry these cloaks and bundles of the
missuses, out yonder to the house wither she's gone?"

"Nick help carry 'em. Carry t'ing for dat squaw hundred time."

"That what! D'ye mane Madam Willoughby by yer blackguard name?"

"Yes; cap'in wife--cap'in squaw, mean him. Carry bundle, basket,
hundred time for him."

"The Lord preserve me, now, from sich atrocity and impudence!" laying
down the cloaks and bundles, and facing the Indian, with an appearance
of great indignation--"Did a body ever hear sich a liar! Why, Misther
Ould Nick, Madam Willoughby wouldn't let the likes of ye touch the ind
of her garments. You wouldn't get the liberty to walk in the sam