take it out of his hide"; his purpose was very clear. The
Indian turned quickly, stood, and looked calmly at Michael.

Some men do not know the difference between shyness
and cowardice, but they are apt to find it out unexpectedly
Something told the white man, "Beware! this red man is
dangerous." He muttered something about, "Get out
of that, or I'll send for a constable." The Indian stood
gazing coldly, till the farmer backed off out of sight, then
he himself turned away to the woods.

Kittering was not a lovely character. He claimed to
have been a soldier. He certainly looked the part, for
his fierce white moustache was curled up like horns on his
purple face, at each side of his red nose, in a most milita
style. His shoulders were square and his gait was
swaggering, beside which, he had an array of swear words that
was new and tremendously impressive in Connecticut. He
had married late in life a woman who would have made him
a good wife, had he allowed her. But, a drunkard himself
he set deliberately about bringing his wife to his own ways
and with most lamentable success. They had had no
children, but some months before a brother's child,
fifteen-year-old lad, had become a charge on their hands
and, with any measure of good management, would have
been a blessing to all. But Micky had gone too far. His
original weak good-nature was foundered in rum. Always
blustery and frothy, he divided the world in two --
superior officers, before whom he grovelled, and inferiors
to whom he was a mouthy, foul-tongued, contemptible