PROPHET. Trust you in fire to burn, or cold to freeze?
So may you trust in me. The heavy charge
Which you have laid upon my shoulders now
Would weigh the very soul of rashness down.

[Exit the PROPHET.]

TECUMSEH. I think I can depend on him - I must!
Yet do I know his crafty nature well -
His hatred of our foes, his love of self,
And wide ambition. What is mortal man?
Who can divine this creature that doth take
Some colour from all others? Nor shall I
Push cold conclusions 'gainst my brother's sum
Of what is good - so let dependence rest!

[Exit.]

SCENE SECOND - VINCENNES - A STREET.

Enter Citizens GERKIN, SLAUGH and TWANG.

GERKIN. Ain't it about time Barron was back, Jedge?

TWANG. I reckon so. Our Guvner takes a crazy sight more
pains than I would to sweetin thet ragin' devil
Tecumseh's temper. I'd sweetin it wi' sugar o lead ef I
had my way.

SLAUGH. It's a reekin' shame - dang me ef it aint. End
thet two-faced, one-eyed brother o' his, the Prophet. -
I'll be darned ef folks don't say thet the Shakers in
them 'ere parts claims him fer a disciple!

TWANG. Them Shakers is a queer lot. They dance jest
like wild Injuns, and thinks we orter be kind to the
red rascals, end use them honestly.

GERKIN. Wall! Thet's what our Guvner ses tew. But I
reckon he's shammin' a bit Twist you and me, he's on
the make like the rest o' us. Think o' bein' kind to a
red devil thet would lift your har ten minutes arter!
End as fer honesty - I say "set 'em up" every time, and
then rob 'em. Thet's the way to clar them out o' the
kentry. Whiskey's better 'n gunpowder, end costs less
than fightin' 'em in the long run.

Enter CITIZEN BLOAT.

TWANG. Thet's so! Hello, Major, what's up? You look
kind o' riled to-day.

BLOAT. Wall, Jedge, I dew feel right mad - have you
heerd the noos?

TWANG. No! has old Sledge bust you at the keerds again?

BLOAT. Old Sledge be darned! I had jest clar'd him out
o' continentals - fifty to the shillin' - at his own
game, when in ript Roudi - the Eyetalian that knifed the
Muskoe Injun for peekin' through his bar-room winder
last spring - jest down from Fort Knox. You know the
chap, General; you was on his jury.

SLAUGH. I reckon I dew. The Court was agin him, but we
acquitted him afore the Chief-Justice finished his
charge, and gave him a vote o' thanks to boot. There's
a heap o' furriners creepin' inter these parts - poor
downtrodden cusses from Europe - end, ef they're all
like Roudi, they'll dew - a'most as hendy wi' the knife
as our own people. But what's up?