Chapter 18

My visor is Philemon's roof; within the house is Jove.
--Shakspeare.

The trapper, who had meditated no violence, dropped his rifle again,
and laughing at the success of his experiment, with great seeming
self-complacency, he drew the astounded gaze of the naturalist from
the person of the savage to himself, by saying--

"The imps will lie for hours, like sleeping alligators, brooding their
deviltries in dreams and other craftiness, until such time as they see
some real danger is at hand, and then they look to themselves the same
as other mortals. But this is a scouter in his war-paint! There should
be more of his tribe at no great distance. Let us draw the truth out
of him; for an unlucky war-party may prove more dangerous to us than a
visit from the whole family of the squatter."

"It is truly a desperate and a dangerous species!" said the Doctor,
relieving his amazement by a breath that seemed to exhaust his lungs
of air; "a violent race, and one that it is difficult to define or
class, within the usual boundaries of definitions. Speak to him,
therefore; but let thy words be strong in amity."

The old man cast a keen eye on every side of him, to ascertain the
important particular whether the stranger was supported by any
associates, and then making the usual signs of peace, by exhibiting
the palm of his naked hand, he boldly advanced. In the mean time, the
Indian betrayed no evidence of uneasiness. He suffered the trapper to
draw nigh, maintaining by his own mien and attitude a striking air of
dignity and fearlessness. Perhaps the wary warrior also knew that,
owing to the difference in their weapons, he should be placed more on
an equality, by being brought nearer to the strangers.

As a description of this individual may furnish some idea of the
personal appearance of a whole race, it may be well to detain the
narrative, in order to present it to the reader, in our hasty and
imperfect manner. Would the truant eyes of Alston or Greenough turn,
but for a time, from their gaze at the models of antiquity, to
contemplate this wronged and humbled people, little would be left for
such inferior artists as ourselves to delineate.

The Indian in question was in every particular a warrior of fine
stature and admirable proportions. As he cast aside his mask, composed
of such party-coloured leaves, as he had hurriedly collected, his
countenance appeared in all the gravity, the dignity, and, it may be
added, in the terror of his profession. The outlines of his lineaments
were strikingly noble, and nearly approaching to Roman, though the
secondary features of his face were slightly marked with the well-
known traces of his Asiatic origin. The peculiar tint of