"I say, strannger, here's my shoulders,--but whar's my head ?--Do you reckon I had the worst of it ?" "Huzza for Nathan Slaughter! He has whipped the ramping tiger of Salt River!" cried the young men of the Station.
"Well, I reckon he has," said the magnanimous Captain Ralph, picking up his hat: then walking up to Nathan, who had taken his dog into his arms, to examine into the little animal's hurts, he cried, with much good-humoured energy,--"Thar's my fo'paw, in token I've had enough of you and want no mo'.

But I say, Nathan Slaughter," he added, as he grasped the victor's hand, "it's no thing you can boast of, to be the strongest man in Kentucky, and the most sevagarous at a tussel,--h'yar among murdering Injuns and scalping runnegades,--and keep your fists off their top-knots.

Thar's my idear: for I go for the doctrine that every able-bodied man should sarve his country and his neighbours, and fight their foes; and them that does is men and gentlemen, and them that don't is cowards and rascals, that's my idear.

And so, fawwell." Then, executing another demivolte or two, but with much less spirit than he had previously displayed, he returned to Colonel Bruce, saying, "Whar's that horse you promised me, cunnel?
I'm a licked man, and I can't stay here no longer, no way no how.

Lend me a hoss, cunnel, and trust to my honour." "You shall have a beast," said Bruce, coolly; "but as to trusting your honour, I shall do no such thing, having something much better to rely on.