"Good.--Rifle got long arm. He talk so, Ingin mind him. When you t'ink
red-skin come ag'in your fort, cap'in, now you got him done?"

"A long time first, I hope, Nick. We are at peace with France, again;
and I see no prospect of any new quarrel, very soon. So long as the
French and English are at peace, the red men will not dare to touch
either."

"Dat true as missionary! What a soldier do, cap'in, if so much peace?
Warrior love a war-path."

"I wish it were not so, Nick. But _my_ hatchet is buried, I hope,
for ever."

"Nick hope cap'in know where to find him, if he want to? Very bad to
put anyt'ing where he forget; partic'larly tomahawk. Sometime quarrel
come, like rain, when you don't tink."

"Yes, that also cannot be denied. Yet, I fear the next quarrel will be
among ourselves, Nick.--The government at home, and the people of the
colonies, are getting to have bad blood between them."

"Dat very queer! Why pale-face mo'der and pale-face darter no love one
anoder, like red-skin?"

"Really, Nick, you are somewhat interrogating this evening; but, my
squaw must be a little desirous of seeing the inside of her house, as
well as its outside, and I must refer you to that honest fellow,
yonder, for an answer. His name is Mike; I hope he and you will always
be good friends."