"All right, Oncle Jazon," said Rene laughing and blowing the smoke
out of his pistol; "'twas you all the same who let Long-Hair trot
off with the Governor's brandy, not I. If you could have hit even
a door-post it might have been better."

Oncle Jazon took off his cap and looked down into it in a way he
had when about to say something final.

"Ventrebleu! I did not shoot at Long-Hair at all," he said,
speaking slowly, "because the scoundrel was unarmed. He didn't
have on even a knife, and he was havin' enough to do dodgin' the
bullets that the rest of 'em were plumpin' at 'im without any
compliments from me to bother 'im more."

"Well," Rene replied, turning away with a laugh, "if I'd been
scalped by the Indians, as you have, I don't think there would be
any particular reason why I should wait for an Indian thief to go
and arm himself before I accepted him as a target."

Oncle Jazon lifted a hand involuntarily and rubbed his scalpless
crown; then he chuckled with a grotesque grimace as if the
recollection of having his head skinned were the funniest thing
imaginable.

"When you've killed as many of 'em as Oncle Jazon has," remarked a
bystander to Rene, "you'll not be so hungry for blood, maybe."

"Especially after ye've took fifty-nine scalps to pay for yer
one," added Oncle Jazon, replacing his cap over the hairless area
of his crown.