Of course it was Oncle Jason, "Oncle Jazon sui generis," as Father Beret had dubbed him.
"Well, here I am!" he cried, approaching the fire by which Colonel Clark and some of his officers were cooking supper, "but ye can't guess in a mile o' who I am to save yer livers and lights." He danced a few stiff steps, which made the water gush out of his tattered moccasins, then doffed his nondescript cap and nodded his scalpless head in salutation to the commander.
Clark looked inquiringly at him, while the old fellow grimaced and rubbed his shrunken chin.
"I smelt yer fat a fryin' somepin like a mile away, an' it set my in'ards to grumblin' for a snack; so I jes thought I'd drap in on ye an' chaw wittles wi' ye." "Your looks are decidedly against you," remarked the Colonel with a dry smile.

He had recognized Oncle Jazon after a little sharp scrutiny.

"I suppose, however, that we can let you gnaw the bones after we've got off the meat." "Thank 'ee, thank 'ee, plenty good.

A feller 'at's as hongry as I am kin go through a bone like a feesh through water." Clark laughed and said: "I don't see any teeth that you have worth mentioning, but your gums may be unusually sharp." "Ya-a-s, 'bout as sharp as yer wit, Colonel Clark, an' sharper'n yer eyes, a long shot.

Ye don't know me, do ye?
Take ernother squint at me, an' see'f ye kin 'member a good lookin' man!" "You have somewhat the appearance of an old scamp by the name of Jazon that formerly loafed around with a worthless gun on his shoulder, and used to run from every Indian he saw down yonder in Kentucky." Clark held out his hand and added cordially: "How are you, Jazon, my old friend, and where upon earth have you come from ?" Oncle Jazon pounced upon the hand and gripped it in his own knotted fingers, gazing delightedly up into Clark's bronzed and laughing face.
"Where'd I come frum?
I come frum ever'wheres.