He had his fowling-piece, which he changed from one hand to the other, and appeared violently chafed. The chief stood about twenty yards from him, and the following colloquy took place between them, which, for the information of my unlearned readers, I shall translate.
M'D.—"Come on, now, you rascal! you toad! you dog! Will you fight?"
Indian.—"I will:—but you're a foolish man. A chief should not be passionate. I always thought the white chiefs were wise men."
M'D.—"I want none of your jaw: I say you cheated me. You're a dog! Will you fight?"
Indian.—"You are not wise. You get angry like a woman; but I will fight. Let us go to the wood. Are you ready?"
M'D.—"Why, you d—d rascal, what do you mean? I'll fight you here. Take your distance like a brave man, face to face, and we'll draw lots for the first shot, or fire together, whichever you please."
Indian.—"You are a greater fool than I thought you were. Who ever heard of a wise warrior standing before his enemy's gun to be shot at like a dog? No one but a fool of a white man would do so."
