A kind master and purveyor I was to them--the poor, dumb
creatures that I loved. But lately I have given them more dainty food.
I boast of having done better than my father. Five Frenchmen have I
killed, and my only regret in dying is, that it will prevent me from
killing more.
"'Ha! ha! ha! that was game worthy of the chief of the Beard!
How lightly he danced. Ho! ho! ho!
How gladly he shouted. Ha! ha! ha!
Each time with French blood his beard became red."
"Sorrow in the hearts of the Natchez! The great hunter is no more. The
wise chief is going to meet his fathers. The indomitable warrior will
no more raise his hatchet in defence of the children of the Sun. O
burning shame! He was betrayed by his brother-chiefs, who sold his
blood. If they had followed his advice they would have united with the
Choctaws, Chickasaws, and all the other red nations, and they would
have slain all the French dogs that came prowling and stealing over the
beautiful face of our country. But there was too much of the woman in
their cowardly hearts. Well and good! Let the will of fate be
accomplished.
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