Nate once described himself as a 

 " pot-pourri of French, Indian, Nigger 

 and Irish." He knew how to do a 

 great many things badly, but he had 

 one ability which, by dint of much 

 practice, he had developed into an 

 art he could tell a lie, or a chain of 

 lies, and make it a well-nigh perfect 

 piece of work. 



He never employed the truth if he 

 could arrange to do without it, and it 

 was this consistency that made him 

 possible to get on with, as the mis- 

 chief of a lie comes when it is 

 believed. 



Physically he was as tough and 

 stunted as a scrub oak, swarthy as 

 an Indian; his head, surmounted by 

 a great mop of coarse black hair, 

 was small and set on a massive 

 muscular throat column, such as the 

 Stone Age man must have had, and 

 which was further developed by 

 long use of the tump line. He 

 was a creature who seemed to have 

 inherited many of the vicious strains 

 of his various forebears without their 

 off-setting good qualities, save a cer- 

 tain Irish good nature. 



But I digress and am doubtless 



