"Strannger," said Big Tom Bruce the younger, with a sagacious nod, "when
you kill an Injun yourself, I reckon,--meaning no offence--you will be
willing to take all the honour that can come of it, without leaving it to
be scrambled after by others. Thar's no man 'arns a scalp in Kentucky,
without taking great pains to show it to his neighbours."

"And besides, captain," said the father, very gravely, "thar are men
among us who have _seen_ the creatur'!"

"_That_," said Roland, who perceived his new friends were not well
pleased with his incredulity, "is an argument I can resist no longer."

"Thar war Ben Jones, and Samuel Sharp, and Peter Small-eye, and a dozen
more, who all had a glimpse of him stalking through the woods, at
different times; and, they agree, he looks more like a devil nor a
mortal man,--a great tall fellow, with horns and a hairy head like a
buffalo-bull, and a little devil that looks like a black b'ar, that
walks before him to point out the way. He war always found in the
deepest forests, and that's the reason we call him Nick of the Woods;
wharby we mean _Old_ Nick of the Woods; for we hold him to be the devil,
though a friendly one to all but Injuns. Now, captain, I war never
superstitious in my life,--but I go my death on the Jibbenainosay! I
never seed the creatur' himself, but I have seen, in my time, two
different savages of his killing. It's a sure sign, if you see him in the
woods, that thar's Injuns at hand: and it's a good sign when you find his
mark without seeing himself, for then you may be sure the brutes are
off,--for they can't stand old Nick of the Woods no how! At first, he war
never h'ard of afar from our station; but he has begun to widen his
range. Last year he left his marks down Salt River in Jefferson; and now,