ross the river, and thought of anngelliferous madam. 'Tarnal
death to me, sodger, it turned me wrong side out! and while I war axing
all natur' how I war to get over, what should I do but see the old
sugar-trough floating in the bushes,--I seed her in a strick of
lightning. So pops I in, and paddles I down, till I comes to the
rocks,--and ar'n't they beauties? 'H'yar goes for grim death and
massacreation,' says I, and tuck the shoot; and if I didn't fetch old
dug-out through slicker than snakes, and faster than a well-greased
thunderbolt, niggurs ar'n't niggurs, nor Injuns Injuns: and, strannger,
if you axes me why, h'yar's the wharfo'--'twar because I thought of
anngelliferous madam! Strannger, I am the gentleman to see her out of a
fight; and so jist tell her thar's no occasion for being uneasy; for,
'tarnal death to me, I'll mount Shawnees, and die for her, jist like
nothing."

"Wretch that you are," cried Roland, whose detestation of the unlucky
cause of his troubles, revived by the discovery that it was to _his_
presence at the ford they owed their last and most fatal disappointment,
rendered him somewhat insensible to the good feelings and courage which
had brought the grateful fellow to his assistance,--"you were born for
our destruction; every way you have proved our ruin: but for you my poor
kinswoman would have been now in safety among her friends. Had she left
you hanging on the beech, you would not have been on the river, to cut
off her only escape, when pursued close at hand by murderous savages."

The reproach, now for the first time acquainting Stackpole with the
injury he had, though so unintentionally and innocently, inflicted upon
his benefactress; and the sight of her, lying apparently half-dead at his
feet, wrought up the feelings of the worthy horse-thief to a pitch of
desperate compunction, mingled with fury.

"If I'm the crittur that holped her into the fix, I'm the crittur to holp
her out of it. 'Tarnal death to me, whar's the Injuns? H'yar goes to eat
'em!"

With that, he uttered a yell,--the first human cry that had been uttered
for some time, for the assailants were still resting on their arms,--and
rushing up the ravine, as if well acquainted with the localities of the
Station, he ran to the ruin, repeating his cries at every step, with a
loudness and vigour of tone that soon drew a response from the lurking
enemy.

"H'yar you 'tarnal-temporal, long-legged, 'tater-headed paint-faces!"
h