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Updated: June 6, 2025
"Ha! well it's supposed Younker and his wife are captives too, or else that thar bones lie white among the ashes of thar own ruins." "Good heavens!" cried Boone. "Any more, David?" "But when did this happen, David?" "Last night," replied the other. "It's suspected that the Injens ha bin warting round here, and took advantage of this wedding, when the greater part on 'em war away.
Ef I don't never come back, Peggy" and the tears started into his eyes "you may jest put it down I've been clean sarcumvented, skinned, and eat up by them thar ripscallious Injens;" and turning upon his heel, as his tender-hearted spouse burst into tears, he seized upon same provisions that had graced the last night's entertainment, gave Black Betty a long and cordial salute with his lips, shook hands with his wife's father and mother, kissed Peggy once again, pulled his cap over his eyes, and, without another word, set forth with rapid strides on the eastern path leading to the rendezvous of Daniel Boone.
"I do wonder what on yarth," she said, "that thar read-headed Simon Girty, and that thar ripscallious old varmint, as calls himself a chief, be coniving at? and why the pesky Injens don't let me and Ella and the rest on 'em come together agin, as we did afore?
Younker!" rejoined the now irritated dame, a la Caudle: "I reckon I don't fret no easier nor you do, nor half so much nother; but I'd like to know who wouldn't fret, when they know they're going to lose all thar property by them thar good for nothing red-coated Britishers, who I do believe is jest as mean as Injens, and they're too mean to live, that's sartin. Fret, indeed!
"Who's that you said war dead, Isaac?" inquired his mother, who had partially overheard the conversation. "Harry Millbanks, mother." "Harry Millbanks!" repeated the dame in astonishment. "What, young Harry? our Harry? Goodness gracious, marcy on me! what orful mean wretches them Injens is, to kill sech as him.
Why you're in the cabin o' Ben Younker as honest a man as ever shot a painter who's my husband, and father of Isaac Younker, what brought ye here, according to the directions of Colonel Boone, arter you war shot by the Injens, the varmints, three days ago; and uncle of Ella Barnwell here, as I calls daughter, 'cause her parents is dead, poor creaters, and she hadn't a home to go to, but come'd to live with us, that are fetching her up in a a dutiful way;" and the good woman concluded her lucid account of family matters with a sound that much resembled a person taking breath after some laborious exertion.
"What!" cried the other; "start off agin, and put your scalp into the hands of the infernal, ripscallious, painted Injens? No, by thunder! you shan't do it, Mr. Reynolds; for sting me with a nest o' hornets, ef I don't hang to ye like a tick to a sheep. No, no, Mr. Reynolds; don't don't think o' sech a thing. But come, go in and see Ella she'd be crazy ef she knew you war here."
But 'tain't likely he stayed thar; he kedn't keep long off o' the purairas. I tell ye, boys, these hyar Injens hev been makin' mischief somewhar'. Look thar, look at them leggin's! Thar's no eend o' white sculps on' 'em, an' fresh tuk, too!" The eyes of all turned towards these terrible trophies that in gory garniture fringe the buck-skin leg-wear of the savages.
"Certainly, sir," answered the other, a little embarrassed. "My name is is Williams." "Thank you! No man, Mr. Williams, ar justified in considering himself safe from Injens, in a country like this; but to tell the truth, I don't feel so fearful of 'em, as when I first come out here with my family, two year ago; though thar's no telling what may hap in the course o' two year more."
He's leagued with the Injens, purposely to excite 'em agin his own white brethren to have them murder women and children, that he may feast his eyes on thar innocent blood. I'm not given to be o' a revengeful speret, Mr.
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