Gustave Aimard
The Frontiersmen

CHAPTER XII

 
"No tear relieved the burden of her heart;
Stunned with the heavy woe, she felt like one
Half-wakened from a midnight dream of blood."
 

SOUTHEY.

We shall be compelled to return upon the course of our narrative, for the purpose of giving a relation of the manner in which Ruth had fallen into the hands of the savages. Guthrie, who was supposed by Eagle's-Wing to have been slain, was really but little injured. The Tuscarora had followed him down the stairway unnoticed, and guided more by sound than by sight, in the darkness of the room below, he glided after the Tory until the latter had reached the door. He heard the attempt to remove the bar which secured it, when, with a silent but rapid blow of his tomahawk, he had, as he supposed, cloven the head of Guthrie to the brain; but owing to the darkness, in which the form of the latter could with difficulty be distinguished, the blow fell upon his left shoulder. The pain as well as the surprise of Guthrie, had caused him to give the shriek which attracted the attention of those above, and which was followed by his fall upon the floor. As no further attack was made upon him by the Tuscarora, he rightly concluded that Eagle's-Wing thought the blow already given to have been fatal. With this impression he remained motionless, until the ill-advised sortie of the defenders of the cottage offered him the opportunity to escape, when he sprung to his feet, and although suffering severely from his wound, rushed up the stairway with the intention of leaping from the window – a distance of ten or twelve feet, to the ground. But as he reached the upper floor, he saw Ruth, who had fallen upon her knees in the act of prayer for the assistance of Heaven towards the brave but few defenders of the cottage. Instantly, Guthrie planned a scheme of vengeance, which was at once carried into effect. Advancing rapidly towards Ruth he said:

"Come, Miss Ruth; the Indians will take the cottage; and your father has directed me to take charge of you and lead you to a place selected by him and his companions for a rendezvous. There is no time for thought: come instantly."

Ruth arose, astonished by this sudden intelligence.

"My father," she exclaimed, "is he safe?"

"Yes," replied Guthrie, "they are all safe; but they have been compelled to retreat towards the forest. Come instantly, or you are lost."

Deceived by the earnestness of Guthrie, Ruth immediately followed him to the window. In a moment a small ladder which had been constructed for exit by the windows, in any emergency similar to the present, was let down upon the ground, and Ruth descended, followed by Guthrie. Taking her by the hand, and partly leading and partly carrying her, they proceeded rapidly towards the south-east into the forest. When they arrived at the base of the hill, near the shore of the pond, instead of meeting her father and his companions, she found herself in the midst of a small party of Senecas. She saw at once that she was betrayed, and shrieked for help.

"None of that, Miss Ruth," cried Guthrie, roughly; "it won't do you any good. Them Colony men at the cottage, have got as much as they can do, just now, to save their own scalps."

"Wretch – villain!" cried Ruth, and she fell fainting upon the ground.

By this time, it was apparent that the contest at the cottage had terminated; and a rough frame-work of light saplings and boughs was constructed, upon which Ruth was placed, and conveyed in the direction of the temporary lodges of the Senecas. Before arriving there, she had recovered from her swoon, when she realized the dangerous situation in which she was placed. Arming herself with the fortitude which was not uncommon among the women of the period, she commended herself to the protection of that Divine Being, upon whom she was wont to rely for aid and consolation.

When they reached the huts of the Senecas, and the Indians ascertained who was their prisoner, their exultation was announced in the shouts of triumph which Ichabod had heard. Ruth, however, without suffering any rudeness or ill-usage such as might have been expected, perhaps, in the present excited state of mind of the savages, was conveyed, by the direction of Panther, to the lodge occupied by Singing-Bird. She was not bound or confined in any manner, the savages relying upon their watchfulness to prevent her escape; and also upon the apparent fidelity of Singing-Bird.

When Ruth saw the entire absence of restraint in which Singing-Bird lived, and her apparent friendliness towards the savages, her mind recurred to the imaginative picture she had formerly drawn of the young squaw, separated by force from a husband she loved, and restrained by captivity, among enemies who were thirsting for his blood, she could not reconcile the present conduct of Singing-Bird with her own ideas of what should have been her conduct; and she felt a degree of disgust towards the young Indian beauty, who could so soon forget a husband so worthy of her affection as the Tuscarora.

"Can this be Singing-Bird, of whom I have heard so much?" asked Ruth.

"Who heard it from?" inquired Singing-Bird.

"I heard it at the cottage, of a Tuscarora chief who had lost his squaw by the treachery of the Senecas, and who were now seeking his life."

"Yes, Eagle's-Wing kill Seneca – and Panther must have Eagle's-Wing's scalp. Bad for Eagle's-Wing to kill Seneca."

"Can it be possible?" asked Ruth, " – no, it cannot be – that you are the Singing-Bird of whom I have heard."

The young Indian placed her hands upon her breast, as struggling with a violent emotion, and then looked at Ruth with an expression of entreaty which was not lost upon her.

"Hush!" faintly whispered Singing-Bird, "Seneca comes."

Ruth saw at once that Singing-Bird was acting a part, and appreciated that she did so from a feeling of necessity for the safety of herself, and perhaps of her husband. Scarcely had Ruth caught the whisper, ere the Indians who had stood by the door of the lodge departed, when Singing-Bird advanced towards Ruth, and said —

"Pale-face girl does not know Singing-Bird. She loves Eagle's-Wing. Hates Panther ever so much. Do tell me 'bout Eagle's-Wing."

Ruth related what she knew of the Tuscarora, and of the attack upon the cottage. Singing-Bird listened intently; and when Ruth had concluded, she placed her arm gently about her neck, and said —

"We sisters now; but look out for Seneca. They think me friend; but I want Eagle's-Wing to get all their scalp."

She then informed Ruth that another party of the Senecas had also brought in a prisoner, and from the description which she gave of the appearance of the captive, Ruth concluded that the unfortunate prisoner could be none other than Ichabod. She conjectured, also, that the Senecas had made no other prisoners, and that her father, together with Ralph and the Tuscarora, still remained in possession of the cottage. This fact at once gave relief to her mind; and she regained a serenity and composure which she had not before been able to feel since her capture.

"What are these Indians going to do with us?" asked she of Singing-Bird.

"Don't know what they do want with pale-face girl. P'raps want to trade for Eagle's-Wing. But Panther wants me for his squaw – wants me to go beyond the lakes, in the Seneca country, to live in his wigwam. Won't do it, though; I kill myself first."

"I never shall consent to be exchanged for Eagle's-Wing," said Ruth. "I shall rely upon some other means of deliverance."

Singing-Bird thanked her by a grateful smile. "O, I do want to get away," replied she. "Oneida and Tuscarora warriors come pretty soon, I hope. When they come, then I get away; p'raps before, if Eagle's-Wing know how. He great warrior."

"I have friends, too, who will assist; and I hope they will find means to deliver us," said Ruth.

"What friend?" asked Singing-Bird, suddenly. "Have you got husband, too?"

Ruth smiled and shook her head.

"Got friend, then," asked Singing-Bird, "who like to look at you – who give you his heart?"

Ruth blushed, and this time she did not smile.

Singing-Bird continued, "If you got lover, then, why don't marry?"

"Perhaps I may, sometime," answered Ruth, still blushing; "but I cannot, you know, until these troubles are all over."

"It's pleasant to live in wigwam with husband. When he gone on war-path, or gone hunting, then you work in field – that good way to live."

"We pale-face women do not work in the field. We make the men do that."

"That squaw's business; men hunt deer, catch fish, take scalp – that warrior's business. I don't want to stay in wigwam and do not'ing, Eagle's-Wing wouldn't like that."

"You do not mean to say that Eagle's-Wing would make you do labor in the field?" asked Ruth, in astonishment.

"No – Eagle's-Wing wouldn't make me do that; but if I didn't, he t'ink me lazy, good for not'ing squaw – then he get another squaw, p'raps. I shouldn't like that."

Ruth was not acquainted with this custom of the Indians; and her astonishment was unfeigned. She could scarcely believe that one so seemingly delicate as Singing-Bird, could accustom herself to a species of labor, that was severe enough for the stronger muscles of the manly portion of creation. Yet, it is true, that while the Indian warrior undergoes the fatigues of war, or of the chase, with uncomplaining fortitude, when idle he never compromises his dignity by any servile employment. The cultivation of the field, and all of the severer domestic duties, are performed by the squaws, with as much patience and fortitude as the warrior displays on the war-path.

"But," asked Singing-Bird, "what pale-face women do? sit still and do not'ing?"

"O, no; we have plenty of employment in attending to household matters. We shouldn't think ourselves able to do labor out-of-doors, in tilling land."

It was now Singing-Bird's turn to be surprised; and while she was expressing her wonderment at this want of love for their husbands on the part of the women of the pale-faces, Panther was seen approaching the lodge. At the suggestion of Singing-Bird, Ruth immediately assumed an appearance of extreme sorrow, while the former took that of the careless indifference which she had first exhibited to Ruth.

Panther entered the lodge, and without seeming to notice the presence of Ruth, approached Singing-Bird and said:

"The pale-face prisoner does not believe that Singing-Bird loves to live in the lodges of the Senecas. Will my sister go and tell him whether she does or not?"

Singing-Bird obeyed without reply; and followed by Panther, she proceeded to the interview we have already described between her and Ichabod.

Ruth had been left alone but for a few moments, when she heard a slow but heavy step approaching the lodge. With a look of uneasiness, she gazed in the direction of the sound, and beheld Guthrie about entering the doorway.

"Good morning, Miss," said he with a rude and familiar voice, that grated harshly on her ears. "I thought I'd just see how you get along. How do you like living with the Senecas?"

"Guthrie," answered Ruth, "in what manner has my father or have I, injured you, that you should commit the act you have, to-day?"

The villain chuckled for a moment. "That's neither here nor there, Miss. There never was any great love atween us, any way; and, you see, a wound like this, ain't apt to increase it," pointing to his shoulder, which had been bandaged. "It's enough for me to know that Squire Barton has given shelter up at the cottage to them as has injured me; and no man ever offends Ben Guthrie without getting his pay for't."

"There has been no time, Guthrie," said Ruth with a shudder, "since we have lived in this valley, but you have been welcomed at the cottage as a friend."

"Yes, yes; I know what kind of a welcome I've generally had: – such as you Colony folks give a Tory, as you call me – a scornful eye – a curling lip – and a hand that is never offered in friendship. But I'll let these interlopers into this territory know that if King George's men have all died in the settlements, there are some of 'em alive round here. But that's neither here nor there. I've done you a kindness, after all; for that cottage will yet be taken – burnt down, p'raps – and then you'd better be here than there."

"Guthrie, you have been guilty of a great wrong, in placing me in the hands of these Senecas; and you may yet live to suffer for it. I never knew a wicked act, that was not followed by its punishment."

"Not so fast, Miss Ruth – not so fast," said Guthrie, "I want you to understand that you're my prisoner; and that these Senecas only hold you for me; and that they are answerable to me for your safety."

"If you have the power, O, take me back to my father! Guthrie," said she imploringly, "and this act of yours to-day shall be forgotten and forgiven; and you will find in me a friend ever more. You know the agony my father must suffer. O, take pity on his gray hairs."

Guthrie gave a peculiar chuckle. "Can't do that, any way," said he, "or not if – You see. Miss, the matter's here. Now your father and I can be friends. There's one way we can make this matter up. Let him give up that Tuscarora to these Indians, and take me for a son-in-law, and the thing's done at once."

Ruth, for a moment, was astounded at this infamous proposal. She looked at him, as if doubting the evidence of her senses; but disdained to reply.

"You see, Miss," continued Guthrie, "it wouldn't be so bad an affair, after all. I ain't much of a woman's man, it's true; but I've got a snug piece of land down here; and then, in these times, it isn't a bad thing to have a friend among these wild savages; and, you see, I could protect all of you."

Ruth answered indignantly, "I did not think, Guthrie, you could do me a worse wrong, than you committed in treacherously making me a prisoner; but you have committed a worse one. Leave this hut, or I will appeal to these savages to protect me; not one of them but has more courtesy, and a better heart than you."

Guthrie looked fiercely angry at this reply; but walked deliberately towards Ruth, and seated himself upon a bench near her. "We'll see about that, Miss. I ain't accustomed to child's play. Now I've made up my mind that I want you for a wife, and my wife you shall be, any way. Now, there ain't no use in screaming, or them sort of things; but you might just as well make up your mind to it, first as last."

Ruth, shuddering with horror, rushed from the hut: Guthrie sprang after her, and caught her by the arm. "That won't do, Miss, any way. Them tantrums will answer in the settlements; but out here in the woods, we do things on squares. You can say, whether you will or you won't, and make an end of it, just to show your freedom in the matter; but whichever way you fix it, it don't make any difference to me; the thing has got to be done."

During this speech of Guthrie's, Ruth had been dragged back into the hut. She shrieked with fear and disgust, and cried aloud for help. Guthrie rudely endeavored to place his hand over her mouth, when Singing-Bird came running into the lodge, followed by two or three Indians. Guthrie, ashamed of his violence, retreated towards the door.

"I've had my say, Miss, and you can make up your mind to it, and save the folks at the cottage; or you can go into these tantrums, and let the other thing happen, just as you've a mind."

With this threat, he slowly departed, followed by the savages, while Ruth threw herself into the arms of Singing-Bird, weeping bitterly at this new addition to her misery.

CHAPTER XIII

 
"There was such lawing and vexation in the towns, one dailie suing and
troubling another, that the veteran was more troubled with lawing within
the towne, than he was in peril at large with the enemie."
 

HOLINSHED – CONQUEST OF IRELAND.

As we have said, Ralph and the Tuscarora, after the discovery of the capture of Ruth, anxiously sought the means of releasing her and Singing-Bird, as well as Ichabod, from the hands of the Senecas. They at length hit upon a plan, which they proposed to put in execution on the following night. They deemed it unsafe to attempt it in the daytime, as they would be much more likely to be discovered by the Indians, than when under the shelter of darkness.

Barton had recovered somewhat from his first paroxysm of grief, and was at length able to take part in the preparations which were in the making. But it was insisted upon by both Ralph and Eagle's-Wing, that he and the negro should remain at the cottage, as well for the purpose of defence should another attack be made during their absence, as for that of having an asylum in readiness, should they succeed in their enterprise. The cottage contained five or six rifles, in addition to those which had already been in use, and was well furnished with ammunition; and it was believed that, should another attack be made, Barton and the negro might defend it, until assistance could be rendered by the return of Ralph and the Tuscarora.

Some time had elapsed in these preparations, and it was already noon, before everything was completed in readiness for the enterprise. A few hours more were to elapse before it would be proper for them to set forth. They had no fear that any immediate injury could be contemplated by the Senecas to Ichabod or Ruth. They supposed that the Indians would not resort to any means of vengeance, until they had completely failed in their attempt to get possession of the Tuscarora. Therefore, it was with no fear, although with much anxiety, that they waited for the hour fixed upon by them for their hazardous enterprise.

It was just about noon that Sambo, who had been into the cattle-yard to look after the cattle, came running into the cottage, and announced the approach of two white strangers from the northward, who were coming on foot in the direction of the cottage. This intelligence was received with pleasure; for at any time, in the midst of the forest, when visitors are few and rare, there is no little excitement on the arrival of strangers, from whom welcome information of friends or of occurrences at the settlement may be obtained; but at this time, when surrounded by so many dangers, a white face was almost certain to be that of a friend.

The announcement had scarcely been made, when the strangers approached the door, and were invited cordially by Barton to enter.

The first of the strangers who attracted their attention was a man of slight stature, not more than five feet six inches in height, with a sly, cunning expression of countenance. His flesh was shrivelled and thin, and his complexion was of a yellowish white, resembling somewhat the color of parchment. He appeared to be about thirty-five years of age. He had a fussy, uneasy air, never seeming to rest, but constantly twitching and jerking about – a peculiarity that passes with most men as the result of great mental activity, but which is more often the evidence of a disarranged, unmethodized mind.

The other personage was of a large and bulky frame, with a dull, stolid expression of countenance; besides, his face wore unmistakable marks of his being addicted to the use of ardent spirits – blossoms indicating that fact being scattered in considerable profusion over it. He carried in his hand a rifle, which, either from want of use or because just at this precise time he was suffering from too familiar an acquaintance with his favorite pocket companion, he seemed to have no appropriate place for, and was unable to get into any convenient position.

The strangers entered the cottage, and the first individual we have described, with a nervous, twitchy manner, said, with an attempt at a graceful salutation —

"Good day, gentlemen. You do not know me, perhaps; my name is Bagsley – attorney-at-law – reside in Johnstown, the shire of Tryon County; and I am now out on a tour of professional business, gentlemen. This person, who accompanies me, is Mr. Nathan Rogers, one of a tributary profession. He is a bailiff, gentleman – deputy sheriff of the county of Tryon – a worthy, time-honored profession; but one, which, unfortunately, in this county, seems not to be properly appreciated, and is not in great demand."

"Ugh!" exclaimed the Tuscarora, and turned leisurely towards the window.

"You are welcome, gentlemen," said Barton, "but I am sorry chat I cannot offer you a better hospitality; but such as I am able to give, you are welcome to."

The strangers seated themselves with an easy familiarity.

"Quite a beautiful country through here," said Bagsley. "I am always delighted when I can escape from the drudgery of the profession, and hold communion with the beauties of nature. But I must confess, you have rather too much of nature around here, gentlemen. Your roads are not remarkably well worn or broken; and we have had quite a fatiguing journey; have we not, Rogers?"

Rogers assented, with a sort of affirmative grunt.

"Belong in these parts?" asked Bagsley, turning towards Ralph.

"I am only on a visit here," was the answer. "I am quite as much a stranger as yourself."

"Will you allow me to ask," continued Bagsley, addressing Barton, "how long you have resided in this section?"

"But two years," Barton replied.

"I declare! you must have been active to have accomplished so much. But, I believe," said Bagsley, with a professional Gravity, "you cannot have the fee of the property here."

"I am a sort of tenant at sufferance of the Oneidas; but should the State purchase these lands – as I believe they will, soon – I may hope to obtain a title to what I already occupy."

"Perhaps – perhaps," answered Bagsley. "But you must be aware, as a gentleman of experience, that, by an act of the Honorable, the Legislature of the State of New York, passed July 25, 1782, this section is particularly and definitely reserved to the Indians of the Six Nations. Now, it may be questionable – I never speak with certainty out of my office – but it may be questionable – whether the State will ever purchase these lands. Should they not – you see the point – you lose, as a matter of course, all of your improvements, and may be ejected at any time."

"Of that fact I am well aware," answered Barton, "and I run my risk, of course. But will you allow me to ask, sir – if my question is not too impertinent – what business gentlemen of your profession can find in these forests?"

"I might, sir, according to the doctrine of the common law – the leges non scriptæ– of England, which is yet the law of this State, so far as it has not been modified by statute, and according to well settled rules of the courts, decline answering that question, as it relates to business intrusted to one in a professional capacity, as well as upon other grounds; but, sir, to a gentleman of your apparent prudence and experience, and particularly so long as I may wish to obtain important information from you, I cannot refuse so reasonable a request."

"I did not ask the question," replied Barton, "from any desire to intrude upon your privacy, but only as a matter of surprise that a legal gentleman could find any business in this remote wilderness that would compensate him for the trouble of coming here."

"It may surprise you, sir – it would be likely to occasion surprise, sir – and I noticed that our red friend, here, expressed his astonishment on learning our profession; but the truth is, we are in pursuit of a notorious debtor, with a capias ad respondendum. I will describe the person, and you may be able to give me useful information as to his whereabouts. He is said to be about forty-five years of age, with grizzly hair, a tall, thin form, stoops much in walking, thin, dried-up face, but intelligent countenance, and is said to converse a great deal upon projects of speculation in property."

"Ichabod, for all the world!" exclaimed Ralph.

"Mr. Jenkins!" exclaimed Barton.

"Ugh!" broke in the Tuscarora.

"I am happy, gentlemen, that I have been able to give a description so brief, but comprehensive, that you are enabled at once to name the person of whom we are in pursuit. You see, Rogers, that we are on the right track after all."

"Yes," grunted that functionary. "We've got the track, but we haven't got the game."

"O, that will follow, as a matter of course," chuckled the attorney. "This Ichabod Jenkins probably resides in these parts?"

"I believe he is now in the neighborhood," answered Ralph, with a gravity that he could scarcely maintain.

"It is important that he should be arrested on this capias," said Bagsley. "The debt is for a large sum, to wit: the sum of £25, 7s. 6d., which he owes and unjustly detains from one Samuel Parsons, plaintiff, and he has not paid the same, or any part thereof, although often requested so to do, wherefore the said Samuel Parsons claims damages, &c. And any information of a precise nature, that can be given, will be freely reciprocated on occasion. Perhaps we can get along without troubling Mr. Jenkins very much. You seem to be his friends; and as this is a bailable process, you can give bail for him."

"I doubt," answered Ralph, "whether it will be at all necessary. I am sorry to inform you, that Mr. Jenkins is now a prisoner among a party of Senecas in this immediate neighborhood."

"What!" exclaimed Bagsley, "have they also lodged a capias against him!"

"I am more fearful that they have taken him in execution," said Ralph, with an attempt at a pun, which we are happy to say, he at once rejected. "The truth is, that this cottage has been attacked by a party of hostile Senecas, and not only Jenkins, but Miss Barton have been made prisoners."

Bagsley put on a look of incredulity. "You do not mean to say, that in these times of peace, war has been levied in this territory against the peace of our Lord the – rather, against the State of New York, ex gratia Dei, free and independent?"

"Fiddlesticks!" ejaculated Rogers.

"It is doubtless a mere assemblage of persons unlawfully together, for the purpose of committing riot or some other disorderly act; and probably a simple declaration that gentlemen of our profession are in the neighborhood, will be sufficient to quell the disturbance. Did I understand you to say, that this gentleman's daughter has been taken prisoner?" pointing to Barton.

"So I informed you, sir," answered Ralph.

"I am happy to offer you my services," addressing Barton: "you can undoubtedly sustain an action of trespass on the case, for the injury in detaining your daughter from your service. This action, sir – and you will notice the beauty and appropriateness of the law – is brought technically for the loss of service – but you recover smart money, by way of damages for harrowed feelings, &c. Miss Barton can also have her action for assault and battery. Then there's Jenkins, why here's a way provided, through the benignity and ubiquity of the law – for at once satisfying this debt. He also has his action for damages. Really, Rogers, we have done just the thing by coming here."

"Make out the papers," said Rogers, "and we'll serve 'em tonight."

"It is a most singular thing," said Bagsley, addressing the company indiscriminately, "the antipathy entertained generally, against gentlemen of our profession. Without us, I may venture to say, the world would be helpless – without us, what power would sustain the weak? Without us, there would be an entire ignorance of that beautiful system which has been adorned by a Holt, a Hale and a Mansfield. But once let us enter an ignorant village of this description, and intelligence upon this subject spreads with wonderful rapidity – men rush forward to try by experience the fruits of that system which has been adorned by the labors of genius, and perfected by the wisdom of ages. Indeed, gentlemen, we may be called the vanguard of civilization."

This eloquent tribute to the legal profession, seemed to provoke a variety of opinion. Barton and Ralph merely smiled. The Tuscarora ejaculated "ugh!" with considerable more force than usual; Sambo seemed to be perfectly enchanted – while Rogers, crossing his legs, and ejecting a quantity of tobacco-juice upon the floor, exclaimed, "right – Bagsley – right – and you might have added, what would have become of the bailiffs, if there were no lawyers?"

"Can you give me the direction towards the riotous assemblage you have mentioned?" inquired Bagsley.

"You certainly do not think of going thither?" exclaimed Ralph, in surprise.

"Of course, sir – of course;" answered Bagsley; "were there any certainty that Mr. Jenkins would immediately return, we would postpone the matter for the day; but upon your intimation that he is detained nolens volens, I think we shall be obliged to go in pursuit of him."

"You will encounter a great danger," said Ralph. "These Indians are highly excited and angry, and they may not discriminate between you and us at the cottage."

"No fear of that, sir," replied Bagsley with an air of dignity and complacency, "I think they cannot but apprehend the distinction. What do you think of that, Rogers."

"Right again," said the functionary. "I don't think anybody could mistake us. There's something in the eye and manner of a bailiff that make a rogue crest-fallen, at once. I'm ready."

"I beg you, gentlemen, as you value your lives," said Barton, "to give up this foolish (as I must term it) errand – for the present, at least. You will certainly regret it when too late."

"We know our duty," said Bagsley, with dignity, "and we shall make an overt of Mr. Jenkins, whether he be defended by his friends on the one hand, or the Indians on the other."

"I am sorry that you cannot take good advice," said Ralph; "but we, at least, shall be conscious that we have warned you of your danger."

"Well, gentlemen," said Rogers, rising and shouldering his rifle, "I've only got this to say – I never saw a rascal, yet, that dare look Nathan Rogers boldly in the face; and if these Injins have got more nerve than other rascals, I want to know it. If there't anybody in my bailiwick that will refuse to acknowledge my authority, I want to know it, and I will know it – that's all."