Nobody's ever got even with 'im yet.

That's so, ain't it?
Just ask Oncle Jazon, if you don't believe it!" The next morning Long-Hair was tracked to the edge.

He had been wounded, but whether seriously or not could only be conjectured.

A sprinkle of blood, here and there quite a dash of it, reddened the grass and clumps of weeds he had run through, and ended close to the water into which it looked as if he had plunged with a view to baffling pursuit.

Indeed pursuit was baffled.