"Friend," he said, "what does thee seek of me, that thee treats me thus?"

"A fight!" replied Captain Stackpole, uttering a war-whoop; "a fight,
strannger, for the love of heaven!"

"Thee seeks it of the wrong person," said Nathan; "and I beg thee will
get thee away,"

"What!" said Stackpole, "arn't thee the Pennsylvanny war-horse, the
screamer of the meeting-house, the ba'r of Yea-Nay-and-Verily?"

"I am a man of peace," said the submissive Slaughter.

"Yea verily, verily and yea!" cried Ralph, snuffling through the
nostrils, but assuming an air of extreme indignation: "Strannger, I've
heerd of you! You're the man that holds it agin duty and conscience to
kill Injuns, the redskin screamers--that refuses to defend the women, the
splendiferous creatur's! and the little children, the squall-a-baby
d'avs! And wharfo'? Bec'ause as how you're a man of peace and no fight,
you superiferous, long-legged, no-souled crittur! But I'm the gentleman
to make a man of you. So down with your gun, and 'tarnal death to me,
I'll whip the cowardly devil out of you."

"Friend," said Nathan, his humility yielding to a feeling of contempt,
"thee is theeself a cowardly person, or thee wouldn't seek a quarrel with
one thee knows can't fight thee Thee would not be so ready with thee
match."

With that, he stooped to gather up his skins, a proceeding that