While the conversation was going on between the Tory and Gray Panther,
Gravity Gimp was rubbing and nursing his "game leg," with many sighs and
groans, which he took care should be heard by those around him, while at
the same time it did not annoy them.
"Sprained it, I s'pose," remarked Golcher, deeming it best to keep back
his intentions toward the negro until after he should have extracted all
the information he could.
"Wuss dan a strain," said Gravity, looking ruefully down at the limb and
rubbing it with one hand.
"How can it be worse than a strain?"
"It's busted."
"You talk like a fool--what do you mean by bustin' a leg?"
"I mean dat it ain't no use any more--ain't wuth nuffin to dance de
double shuffle wid."
"How did you hurt it?"
"Got struck by a cannon-ball dis arternoon--but I recovered from dat
slight inconwenience, and I strained and broke it in two or three places
a little while ago."
"How?"
"In flingin' Injins ober de rocks, I wrenched it."
The explanation was not very clear to Golcher, but he was satisfied the
limb was badly sprained, and he cared nothing further. It rendered what
might have been a dangerous prisoner comparatively harmless, which was a
good thing while the main party of Indians were away, engaged in
entrapping the fugitives, whose possession was so much more valuable.
"All you folks got into the cavern, down among the rocks over there,
thinkin' you was safe, didn't you?"
"We crept in dar not 'cause we thought it war safe, but 'cause it war
the bestest thing we could do."
"Do you know anything about Fred Godfrey?"
"Yes; he hab de honor ob my 'quaintance."
"That isn't what I mean: do you know where he is?"
"I tink he am ober on de oder side ob de riber slewing Injins and
Tories."
It will be recollected that Gravity left the cavern before the
lieutenant put in his appearance, and the African therefore knew nothing
of his presence with his friends.
"Wal," growled Golcher, finding it hard to repress the anger that was
gnawing at his heart; "the trouble to-day has been that too many of the
rebels got slewed themselves; if it hadn't been for that, things would
have gone different; but that Godfrey will be with the party up in the
rocks afore long."
"Guess you're 'bout right, Massa Golcher."
"Do you know," suddenly asked Golcher turning on the negro, "that we're
going to have every one of that party afore daylight?"
"No, I didn't know it; did you?"
"They'll be here inside of two hours, and then there'll be fun."
"Reckons dere'll be a little fun afore you cotches 'em."
"They're in the rocks, but we can rout them out whenever we want to;
they think we don't know what they're doing, but Gray Panther hasn't
missed anything."
"I noticed that Massa Brainerd didn't miss either, when he plugged dem
Injuns dat was trying to sneak in behind the rocks."
"See here," exclaimed Golcher, turning upon him; "you'd better keep a
civil tongue in your head."
"Dat's all right--I was jes' joking wid you--but, if you hain't any
'bjection, Massa Golcher, I'd like to know what yer gwine to do wid me?
Am yer gwine ter take me up in York State and put me to work on a farm?"
"If you live a couple of hours longer, you'll be put through the
sprouts."
"Put frough de sprouts," repeated Gimp, as if to himself; "wonder what
dat means."
While this conversation was going on, the Indian who was keeping guard
was seated on the other side the fire in a lounging attitude, and his
head now and then bobbed down on his breast in a way that showed he was
partly asleep.
Gravity Gimp did not appear to notice him, but he saw every movement,
and, without appearing to do so, hitched a little closer to the Tory.
The latter seemed to conclude that nothing more was to be gained from
the negro, and he ceased asking him questions.
The servant groaned and rubbed his leg with every appearance of great
pain.
"Massa Golcher," said he, with a groan, "I'd be much obliged to yer, if
you'll jes pull off my shoe and rub dat ankle for half an hour."
And as he made this astounding request he moved still nearer, and thrust
his enormous shoe almost in the face of the renegade, who turned
savagely upon him.
"I'll teach yer manners, you black--"
He rose to his feet and whipped out his knife as he spoke, but Gimp also
came to the standing position, and he was a little quicker than the
Tory. Golcher had drawn his weapon, but before he suspected the design
of his assailant, Gimp lowered his head and ran like a steam-engine
straight at him.
The iron-like skull struck Golcher "'midships" and knocked him over
backwards, his heels going up in the air, while he described an almost
complete somersault, with the breath gone from his body.
The drowsy Seneca roused up just in time to witness the performance, and
to see the same battering-ram charging down upon him.
He turned to leap aside until he could draw his tomahawk, but he was a
second too late, and the projectile took him in the pit of the stomach,
and banged him against a neighboring tree with such violence that the
breath left his body also, and there is reason to believe it never
returned.