"Friends!" repeated the Yankee, shaking his head, "your friendships are
soon made. Friends, indeed! We ain't that yet; but if you be minded to
come with us, well and good."

"I met these American gentlemen," now put in Martin, "and when they
heard that you had lost your way, and were out of provisions, they were
so good as to come and seek you."

"You be'n't much used to the prairie, I reckon?" observed the American
who had spoken before.

"No, indeed, my friend," said I.

"I told you a'ready," replied the man with some degree of pride, "we
ain't your friends; but if you choose to accept American hospitality,
you're welcome."

We glanced at the Acadians, who were still firing, and dragging the
beasts they slaughtered into their boat and to the shore. They appeared
perfect savages, and there was little temptation to seek guidance or
assistance at their hands.

"If it is agreeable to you, we will accompany you," said I to the
American, making a step towards the boat. We were eager to be off, for
the heat and smoke were unbearable. The Yankee answered neither yes nor
no. His attention seemed taken up by the proceedings of the Acadians.

"They're worse than Injuns," said he to a young man standing by him.
"They shoot more in an hour than they could eat in a year in their
tarnation French wastefulness."