"Do?" says he; "we shot a couple of 'em in the legs and arms, and bound
'em up again. They was in a t'arin' rage. I'm more afeard of a scar't
man,--a real scar't man--nor a rattler. They cussed us till they was
hoarse. Said they'd hev us hung, an' Clark, too. Said they hed a right
to go back to Virginny if they hed a mind."

"An' what did ye say?" demanded Polly Ann, pausing in her work, her eyes
flashing with resentment. "Did ye tell 'em they was cowards to want to
settle lands, and not fight for 'em? Other folks' lands, too."

"We didn't tell 'em nothin'," said Tom; "jest sent 'em kitin' back to the
stations whar they come from."

"I reckon they won't go foolin' with Clark's boys again," said Polly Ann,
resuming a vigorous rubbing of the skillet. "Ye was tellin' me about
these fine folks ye fetched home." She tossed her head in the direction
of the open door, and I wondered if the fine folks were outside.

"Oh, ay," said Tom, "they was comin' this way, from the Carolinys. Jim
Ray went out to look for a deer, and found 'em off 'n the trail. By the
etarnal, they WAS tuckered. HE was the wust, Jim said, lyin' down on a
bed of laurels she and the niggers made. She has sperrit, that woman.
Jim fed him, and he got up. She wouldn't eat nothin', and made Jim put
him on his hoss. She walked. I can't mek out why them aristocrats wants
to come to Kaintuckee. They're a sight too tender."

"Pore things!" said Polly Ann, compassionately. "So ye fetched 'em
home."