"Shorely, Grumbo," said the black hunter, addressing his dog, "it mus' be dat Black Thunder, de big Injun we hears de white hunters talk so much about. Dey say he blacked his face wid gunpowder when he fus' started out a-fightin', an' ain't neber gwine to wash it off tel he's got 'nough uf us white folks's skelps to rig up his huntin'-shirt an' make it fine. I jes' as soon de ol' Scratch git de grips uf his clutches on our little master, as dat Black Thunder. It's 'you tickle me an' I tickle you' betwixt him an' de ol' Scratch. O you ol' Black Thunder!" with a sudden burst of energy, apostrophizing the absent brave; "jes' let de Fightin' Nigger git de whites uf his eyes on yo' red ugliness once, he'll give you thunder--gunpowder thunder, he will. Jes' let Betsy Grumbo git her muzzle on yo' red ugliness once, may be she won't bark an' bite! May be she won't make yo' fine feathers fly! May be she won't, now! O plague yo' red hide! Yug, yug, yug!" And with this terrible malediction, the black giant shook his mighty fist at the foot-prints of the red giant in the mud--Grumbo catching his master's spirit, and giving the echo in a deep savage growl.
Having lost but a few moments in making these observations, with renewed spirit and vigor they resumed the pursuit. Burl now felt confident that the chances of war were decidedly in their favor, let them but come upon the enemy under screen of night and undiscovered; and for more than this he would not ask, to bring his war-path to a brilliant end. Ever and anon, after they trudged on for a mile or two, Grumbo, fetching a harder sniff than usual, would give one of his quick, low yelps of satisfaction--when his master would know that at such places the Indians, after carrying their little captive for some distance, to rest his young limbs a bit, had here set him down again to walk. This usually happened on their reaching the tops of the higher hills, or the heads of the longer and more rugged hollows. Whenever they came to where the ground was moist and the trail was left distinctly marked, Burl always noticed that the boy's foot-prints were nearest those of the slender-footed Indian, as if they had walked together side by side; and by certain signs, similar to those he had observed at the first brook, he knew that the same hand had carried the little fellow over all the streams which ran across the trail. Nothing further happened to break the monotony of the tramp till, after having left full many a mile of tangled forest behind them, they came, late in the day, to where, a little to one side, lay a dead eagle, stripped of its magnificent plumage. Burl turned it over, and perceiving that the bullet-wound which had caused its death was still fresh and open, he knew that the bird had been brought down but a few hours before. Here again, clearly to be distinguished from those of the others, were to be seen the traces of the boy and the slender-footed Indian, still side by side, and going out to the dead eagle, where they were repeated many times, as if these two had lingered around the fallen monarch of the air, while the others walked slowly onward.