He sprang up and grappled Oncle Jazon; at the same time, standing near by, he saw Simon Kenton, his old-time Kentucky friend.
The pungled features of one and the fine, rugged face of the other swam as in a mist before Beverley's eyes.

Kenton was laughing quietly, his strong, upright form shaking to the force of his pleasure.

He was in the early prime of a vigorous life, not handsome, but strikingly attractive by reason of a certain glow in his face and a kindly flash in his deep-set eyes.
"Well, well, my boy!" he exclaimed, laying his left hand on Beverley's shoulder, while in the other he held a long, heavy rifle.

"I'm glad to see ye, glad to see ye." "Thought we was Injuns, eh ?" said Oncle Jazon.

"An' ef we had 'a' been we'd 'a' been shore o' your scalp!" The wizzened old creole cackled gleefully.
"And where are ye goin' ?" demanded Kenton.