My hand, finding naught to grasp, slipped from the smooth round ball, and as it fell touched what seemed an ear, and then a human nose.
"Merciful God! 't is a man!" I gasped, in astonishment and yet relief, as I closed upon his throat, madly determined to shut off his wind before he could give alarm.
"Cuss the luck!" he gasped hoarsely, and I let go of him, scarcely able to ejaculate in my intense surprise at that familiar voice.
"Burns?
For Heaven's sake, Burns! can this indeed be you ?" For an instant he did not speak, doubtless as greatly perplexed as I at the strange situation.
"If ye 're Injun," he ventured at last gravely, "then I 'm a bloody ghost; but if by any chance ye 're the lad, Wayland, which yer voice sounds like, then it's Ol' Tom Burns as ye 're a-maulin' 'round, which seems ter be yer specialty,--a-jumpin' on unoffensive settlers in the dark, an' a-chokin' the life outer them." The growling tone of his voice was growing querulous, and it was evident that his temper, never quite childlike, had not been greatly improved by his late experiences as an Indian captive.
"But Burns, old friend!" I persisted heartily, my courage returned once more, "it was surely enough to stir any man to violence to encounter such a thing in the dark! What in Heaven's name has happened to leave you with such a poll?
What has become of your hair and beard?
Is their loss a part of Indian torture ?" There was a low chuckle in the darkness, as if the old rascal were laughing to himself.
"Injun nuthin!" he returned with vehemence.

"Thet 's jist my way of sarcumventin' the bloody varmints.

I shaved the hull blame thing soon as ever they let me loose, an' then played loony, till thar ain't no Injun 'long the shore as 'd tech me fer all the wampum in the Illini country.

'T ain't the fust time I saved my scalp by some sech dern trick.

I tell ye, it 's easy 'nough ter beat Injuns if ye only know how.