Chauncey drew near with a strut. He had very long black hair, a new
coonskin cap with a long tassel, and a new blue-fringed hunting shirt.
What first caught my eye was a couple of withered Indian scalps that hung
by their long locks from his girdle. Chauncey Dike was certainly
handsome.
"Wal, Polly Ann, are ye tired of hanging out fer Tom?" he cried, when a
dozen paces away.
"I wouldn't be if you was the only one left ter choose," Polly Ann
retorted.
Chauncey Dike stopped in his tracks and haw-hawed with laughter. But I
could see that he was not very much pleased.
"Wal," said he, "I 'low ye won't see Tom very soon. He's gone to
Kaintuckee."
"Has he?" said Polly Ann, with brave indifference.
"He met a gal on the trail--a blazin' fine gal," said Chauncey Dike.
"She was goin' to Kaintuckee. And Tom--he 'lowed he'd go 'long."
Polly Ann laughed, and fingered the withered pieces of skin at Chauncey's
girdle.
"Did Tom give you them sculps?" she asked innocently.
Chauncey drew up stiffly.
"Who? Tom McChesney? I reckon he ain't got none to give. This here's
from a big brave at Noewee, whar the Virginny boys was surprised." And
he held up the one with the longest tuft. "He'd liked to tomahawked me
out'n the briers, but I throwed him fust."
"Shucks," said Polly Ann, pounding the corn, "I reckon you found him
dead.
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