"Beavers' tails and minks' flesh may do to talk about before a maple
fire and a quiet hearth," interrupted the squatter, without the
smallest deference to the interested feelings of the disputants; "but
something more than foreign words, or words of any sort, is now
needed. Tell me, trapper, where are your Siouxes skulking?"
"It would be as easy to tell you the colours of the hawk that is
floating beneath yonder white cloud! When a red-skin strikes his blow,
he is not apt to wait until he is paid for the evil deed in lead."
"Will the beggarly savages believe they have enough, when they find
themselves master of all the stock?"
"Natur' is much the same, let it be covered by what skin it may. Do
you ever find your longings after riches less when you have made a
good crop, than before you were master of a kernel of corn? If you do,
you differ from what the experience of a long life tells me is the
common cravings of man."
"Speak plainly, old stranger," said the squatter, striking the butt of
his rifle heavily on the earth, his dull capacity finding no pleasure
in a discourse that was conducted in so obscure allusions; "I have
asked a simple question, and one I know well that you can answer.
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