Although possessing an assurance that he could get the better of the
devil, "could he but identify him," as O'Kimmon frequently said, he felt
for one moment as if he were now in the presence. Despite his nerve the
silence terrified him. He was beginning to cringe before the steady
glare of those searching eyes. It was even as a refreshment of spirit to
note a sudden bovine snort of rage from the lightsome Dragon-fly, as if
he could ill bridle his inimical excitement.

The adventurers had not anticipated a reception of this sort, for the
hospitality of the Indians was proverbial. Credentials surely were not
necessary in the social circles of the Cherokees, and two men to six
thousand offered no foundation for fear. O'Kimmon had such confidence in
his own propitiating wiles and crafty policy that he did not realize how
his genial deceit was emblazoned upon his face, how blatant it was in
his voice. But for its challenging duplicity there would hardly have
arisen a suggestion of suspicion. Many men on various errands easily
found their way into the Indian tribes when at peace with the British,
and suffered no injury. Nevertheless as the wise Oo-koo-koo looked at
O'Kimmon thus steadily, with so discerning a gaze, the Irishman felt
each red hair of his scalp rise obtrusively into notice, as if to
suggest the instant taking of it. He instinctively put on his coonskin
cap again to hold his scalp down, as he said afterward.

"Why come?" Oo-koo-koo demanded sternly.

"Tell the truth, for God's sake!" L'Épine adjured O'Kimmon in a low
voice.

"I'm not used to it! 'T would give me me death o' cold!" quavered the