Chapter 8 - Page 2

face of the eminence; and a little dwelling of cloth,
perched on the apex of a small pyramid, that shot up on one angle of
the rock, the white covering of which glimmered from a distance like a
spot of snow, or, to make the simile more suitable to the rest of the
subject, like a spotless and carefully guarded standard, which was to
be protected by the dearest blood of those who defended the citadel
beneath. 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. "It may do for your people,
who live in settlements, to hasten on to their houses; but, thank
Heaven! my farm is too big for its owner ever to want a resting-
place."

"Since you like the plantation, then, you have only to make your
crop."

"That is easier said than done, on this corner of the estate. I tell
you, Abiram, there is need of moving, for more reasons than one. You
know I'm a man that very seldom enters into a bargain, but who always
fulfils his agreements better than your dealers in wordy contracts
written on rags of paper. If there's one mile, there ar' a hundred
still needed to make up the distance for which you have my honour."

As he spoke, the squatter glanced his eye upward at the little
tenement of cloth which crowned the summit of his ragged fortress. The
look was understood and answered by the other; and by some secret
influence, which operated either through their interests or feelings,
it served to re-establish that harmony between them, which had just