It is hardly necessary to add, that this rude and
characteristic fortress was the place where Ishmael Bush had taken
refuge, after the robbery of his flocks and herds.
On the day to which the narrative is advanced, the squatter was
standing near the base of the rocks, leaning on his rifle, and
regarding the sterile soil that supported him with a look in which
contempt and disappointment were strongly blended.
"'Tis time to change our natur's," he observed to the brother of his
wife, who was rarely far from his elbow; "and to become ruminators,
instead of people used to the fare of Christians and free men. I
reckon, Abiram, you could glean a living among the grasshoppers: you
ar' an active man, and might outrun the nimblest skipper of them all."
"The country will never do," returned the other, who relished but
little the forced humour of his kinsman; "and it is well to remember
that a lazy traveller makes a long journey."
"Would you have me draw a cart at my heels, across this desert for
weeks,--ay, months?" retorted Ishmael, who, like all of his class,
could labour with incredible efforts on emergencies, but who too
seldom exerted continued industry, on any occasion, to brook a
proposal that offered so little repose.
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