that are a little remarkable for a man who lives by the rifle;
seldom snuffing the air but he smells gunpowder, or turning out of
his berth but to bear down on an enemy."

"If you think I pass my days in warfare against my kind, you know
neither me nor my history. The man that lives in the woods and on
the frontiers must take the chances of the things among which he
dwells. For this I am not accountable, being but an humble and
powerless hunter and scout and guide. My real calling is to hunt
for the army, on its marches and in times of peace; although I
am more especially engaged in the service of one officer, who is
now absent in the settlements, where I never follow him. No, no;
bloodshed and warfare are not my real gifts, but peace and mercy.
Still, I must face the enemy as well as another; and as for a
Mingo, I look upon him as man looks on a snake, a creatur' to be
put beneath the heel whenever a fitting occasion offers."

"Well, well; I have mistaken your calling, which I had thought
as regularly warlike as that of a ship's gunner. There is my
brother-in-law, now; he has been a soldier since he was sixteen,
and he looks upon his trade as every way as respectable as that of
a seafaring man, a point I hardly think it worth while to dispute
with him."

"My father has been taught to believe that it is honorable to carry
arms," said Mabel, "for his father was a soldier before him."

"Yes, yes," resumed the guide; "most of the Sergeant's gifts are
martial, and he looks at most things in this world over the barrel
of his musket. One of his notions, now, is to prefer a king's piece