odds you know, that such war the fact, from the particular trouble
you've taken to thank me for doing the duty of a man. Let me assure you,
stranger, that you're in a country now whar equality exists; and whar
one man's just as good as another, provided he is no coward, and behaves
himself as he should do; and whether stranger or not, is equally
entitled to the assistance of his fellows; perticularly when about being
treed by such a sneaking varmint as that lying yonder. Besides, I don't
want any body to thank me for shooting Indians; for I always do it,
whensomever I get a chance, as Betsey would tell you, ef she could speak
English; for somehow thar's no perticular agreement atween us, unless
it's for each to make the most he can off the other; and so far I reckon
thar's a ballance in my favor, though the wretches are ever trying
desperate hard to get even. But come, stranger, it won't do for you to
be lying thar with that hole in your side; and so just have patience a
minute, till I've secured the top-knot of this beauty here, and then
I'll assist you down to yonder cabin, whar I doubt not you'll be well
cared for."

As he spoke, the old woodsman rose to his feet, drew his knife, and
turning to the dead Indian, to the surprise of the other, who was but
little familiar with Kentucky customs of that day, deliberately took off
the scalp, which he attached to his belt;[1] and then spurning the body
with his foot, he muttered: "Go, worthless dog! and fill the belly of
some wolf! and may your cowardly companion be soon keeping you company."
Then, as he turned to the other, and noticed his look of surprise, he
added: "Well, stranger, I reckon this business looks a little odd to
you, coming from away beyond the mountains as you do."

"Why, if truth must be told, I confess it does," answered the other.