second day after his return, he went down to neighbor Peterson's house and enlisted the services of Mr. Peterson and his son in a thorough search for Indian signs. Of course, the trail was altogether too cold to follow; but they found a paint bag beside the river which mother and I had failed to discover, and Mr. Peterson, who was an old Indian fighter, pronounced it to be of Miami manufacture.

II. We kept a continual watch, and father drilled Ruth and Josie in the use of the musket every day. I kept Robert's rifle, and, in fact, it was within my reach day or night. Never a thought of forsaking our home and fleeing to the settlement entered our minds. We had everything to gain if we stayed, and everything to lose if we left our home.

-I. Dis heärt'ened,

2.

5.

DEFINITIONS.discouraged. Wa'ver ing, yielding; breaking down. 3. Pa trōled', guarded. 4. Re sōur'ces, means of aid or relief. Dis pōsed', stored away. 6. Găr'ri son, a body of troops stationed in a fortified place. 7. In'dis tinct', not clearly seen. 8. Pěnt, penned; suppressed. 9. En list'ed, engaged; secured.

The Miami's Captive.

PART III.

1. One evening we were all sitting before the great log fire busy with our several occupations, father smoothing an ax-helve, Ruth and Joseph shelling corn, and mother mending father's well-worn leggings. I sat back from the others near the side of the room, and a silence had fallen upon us

all. Suddenly a sound, faint though distinct, reached my ear. I started and looked at the others, but no one seemed to have noticed it but me.

Quietly rising, I went to the corner where the ladder which led into the loft was situated, and ascended to the low room above. Here, where the crackling of the fire was at a distance, I could hear what had aroused me more distinctly. Some one was coming along the cattle-run toward the house, and the footsteps sounded nearer and nearer as I approached a loophole which commanded the ground in that direction.

2. There was no moon, but the faint starlight illuminated the cow-yard and the ground between it and the house. A moment's scrutiny assured me that my suspicions were correct. A figure came out from the shadow of the strawstack and approached the house. One glance was sufficient. It was an Indian warrior in full dress, his scalp-lock tied with a bunch of feathers, naked to the waist, but for a blanket which hung loosely from his shoulders, and a gun in his hand.

3. I did not even give myself time to be surprised at his boldness. Evidently the savage thought the only occupants of the house were women and children. I was back in the living room in a moment, and whispered to father:

"Indians! Right near the house. I just saw one not a dozen yards away."

Silence!" commanded my father, without showing the least excitement. He was a man who never lost his selfpossession under any circumstances.

With one movement he put out the candle dips ranged

along on the table, motioned mother and children into the dark corners of the room, and, catching up his rifle, mounted to the loft. I followed him with my own weapon, and he did not send me back. Our motions had been made so silently that no one outside would have supposed that we had been aroused.

4. The single intruder I had previously seen evidently had no suspicion of our preparation, for I could still see him from the loophole. He seemed to hesitate a moment, and then crept forward toward the door.

At that instant, there was a flash and report from father's loophole, and I plainly saw the feathers cut clean from the scalp-lock of the savage.

We had every expectation that the shot would be followed by the terrible sound of the war-whoop from the foes we thought hidden within a short distance of the house; but nothing of the kind occurred. The Indian uttered a startled exclamation, and sprang away from the door. I brought my own rifle to my shoulder, and fired just before he disappeared in the darkness; but evidently with no better success than to increase his speed.

5. "Well, I deserve to be horsewhipped," muttered father in disgust at his shot. "And I thought you were a better marksman, Becky. But I warrant the red scoundrels will keep their distance for a while, now they know we are ready for them."

Father called Joseph up to the loft and placed him at a loophole with his musket. The fire was allowed to die down, so that its light should not reveal us to any watchful foe, and with fast-beating hearts we waited the onslaught

which we momentarily expected. But we waited in vain. Moment after moment went by, and the Indians gave no further sign of their presence. Finally a disturbance among the cattle reached our ears.

6. The cattle soon became quiet again, but with weapons ready and every sense alert, we stood by our loopholes till day. Mother and Ruth relieved Joseph and me part of the time, but father watched through all that terrible night. Just as the gray light of the dawn began to show in the east, father roused us all and placed us at our several loopholes.

"If they haven't been frightened off and mean anything, they'll attack us now," he said. "But to save me I can't see any signs of 'em, and I haven't been able to since that scamp came to the door."

We waited, but the Indians did not come. The sun rose and flooded the fields with light, and finally father carefully unbarred the door and stepped out, rifle in hand. It was a courageous thing to do, for if the foe were in ambush he would be a splendid target for their weapons; but not a shot was fired.

7. Mother and I both followed him to the door. I stooped and picked up the feathers which had been bound in the Indian's scalp-lock. It certainly had been no dream.

Father walked to the corner of the house, from which he could see the cow-yard and out-buildings. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation, and dropping his rifle, leaned back against the wall, his face almost colorless. Mother and I reached his side in a moment, but mother did not stop there. She ran on with a glad cry and threw herself upon a figure standing near the barn door!

8. "Robert! Oh, Robert!" cried mother, and her words brought me to myself again.

It was my brother; yet, it was the Indian brave of the evening previous, too.

"You gave me a warmer greeting last night than you do this morning," said Robert, coming forward with mother.

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'God Almighty Himself turned my bullet last night, my son, or you would have been killed at my own door-stone," said father, taking my brother in his arms, while the tears rolled down his cheeks. "Thank God for that!"

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It is a day of great thanksgiving."

We went into the house with Robert, and only the impatient lowing of the neglected cattle called us out three hours later, for we had forgotten all about them in listening to Robert's story.

9. He had gone into the woods to cut withes, as we had supposed, and there was captured by four Indians, who fell upon him so suddenly that resistance was impossible. They treated him very well, especially one old warrior who had, it seemed, recently lost a son in battle. They took him directly to their town, a long distance beyond the Canadian line.

10. Robert soon found that the best way for him to do was to accept his fate as cheerfully as possible, and make no trial for escape until an absolutely certain opportunity presented itself. When they arrived at the Indian town, the old warrior before mentioned formally adopted Robert as his son. He had been stained by the squaws, his scalplock dressed as befitted a young brave, his face painted, and buckskin leggings and moccasins given him,