"Do you know him, Monsieur Jazon ?" Oncle Jazon winked conceitedly and sighted along his rudimentary ramrod to see if it was straight; then puckering his lips, as if on the point of whistling, made an affirmative noise quite impossible to spell.
"Well, I'm glad you are acquainted with Kenton," said Beverley.

"Where did you and he come together ?" Oncle Jazon chuckled reminiscently and scratched the skinless, cicatrized spot where his scalp had once flourished.
"Oh, several places," he answered.

"Ye see thet hair a hangin' there on the wall ?" He pointed at a dry wisp dangling under a peg in a log barely visible by the bad light.

"Well, thet's my scalp, he! he! he!" He snickered as if the fact were a most enjoyable joke.

"Simon Kenton can tell ye about thet little affair! The Indians thought I was dead, and they took my hair; but I wasn't dead; I was just a givin' 'em a 'possum act.