"
What could the captain do, to reward the youthful hope of this venerable
pair, and comfort him for the loss of his foster-brother, the horse?
He bethought him of a hatchet, which might be spared from his slender
stores. No sooner did he place the implement into the hands of the young
hopeful, than his countenance brightened up, and he went off rejoicing
in his hatchet, to the full as much as did his respectable mother in her
ear-bobs.
The captain was now in the saddle, and about to start, when the
affectionate old patriarch stepped forward, for the third time, and,
while he laid one hand gently on the mane of the horse, held up the
rifle in the other. "This rifle," said he, "shall be my great medicine.
I will hug it to my heart--I will always love it, for the sake of my
good friend, the bald-headed chief.--But a rifle, by itself, is dumb--I
cannot make it speak. If I had a little powder and ball, I would take it
out with me, and would now and then shoot a deer; and when I brought the
meat home to my hungry family, I would say--This was killed by the
rifle of my friend, the bald-headed chief, to whom I gave that very fine
horse."
There was no resisting this appeal; the captain, forthwith, furnished
the coveted supply of powder and ball; but at the same time, put spurs
to his very fine gift-horse, and the first trial of his speed was to
get out of all further manifestation of friendship, on the part of the
affectionate old patriarch and his insinuating family.
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