been ominous to his ear that if he attempted to rise or leave his present resting-place he would have done so with small chance of his life. At length the confusion somewhat subsided, and the half-breed was questioned how the squaw had been stabbed; his response was brief and to the point.

"He and the boy had been sitting together when madame had joined them. For a supposed insult, soon after her arrival, she had beaten the boy. He had interfered to stop the punishment. She then left them, under the pretence of going to her own waggon, but soon after returned with a stick and re-commenced belabouring the child, holding him by the hair so that he was rendered incapable of resistance. I was about to separate them," he continued, "when madame gave a scream and fell down, releasing the boy, who immediately ran off."

The poor squaw confirmed this story, except that she gave it her own colouring, so that no doubt was left in our minds that the boy had stabbed her.

A hasty examination soon showed that the wound the unfortunate woman had received would be fatal; for the bowels protruded through an incision several inches long. Never before had I witnessed such a painful scene. By the flickering light a group of rough but kind-hearted men gazed down upon the unfortunate woman, each of whose respirations told how short a time she had to live."

Bonté despatched several persons to secure the assassin, but so long a time had elapsed that they failed in the attempt. The sentry reported having seen a

H

horse gallop past his post. The time accorded so nearly with that at which we had met the boy, that there was no doubt that it was he, and that he was now miles out on the prairie, and so safe till daylight from pursuit.

At sunrise the poor squaw died. There were none who did not regret her, still all thought she had brought her untimely fate upon herself.

The escape of the boy was deemed far better than his capture, for the deed, however culpable, was committed in self-defence.

His journey could be no short one, and his course was beset on every hand by danger, dangers that few mature and fully armed men would have attempted alone.

CHAPTER XII.

A FIGHT WITH THE CAMANCHES.

Two nights after the events narrated in the last chapter, we were encamped upon the edge of a wide plain, which, although to the casual observer might have appeared level and smooth, was, on close examination, found to be intersected with deep and wide sand cracks; boulders large and numerous were scattered on all sides, while a dense dwarf chaparal brush, in patches, formed just such cover as would be considered desirable by the sportsman to assist him successfully to stalk the most wary descriptions of game. But that we had had two long forced marches entirely without water, a situation apparently so dangerous from its exposure to attack from Indians, would not have been selected; but where we halted there was a large pool abundantly fed by springs; so our coralling in this undesirable situation was more a matter of necessity than of choice.

The death of the poor squaw, and the flight of the lad, for whose safety we could not but feel anxious, notwithstanding the rash act he had committed, seemed to weigh heavily upon all of us, but of course particularly on our chief; for rough, passionate and stern as he was, I believe he loved both as much as his nature would permit him. However, his private grief did not prevent him from attending to his duties, and under his own

supervision double sentries were set around the coral, as soon as darkness set in; his parting words of instruction to each were, to keep a sharp look-out, or some would lose their scalp lock before morning.

About half-past ten the whole camp was alarmed by two shots fired in quick succession. In a moment all were under arms, but although we remained so for an hour, no further warning of the presence of a foe was given. Both the men who had discharged their rifles asserted that they had not only heard a noise similar to an Indian stealing through the brush, but that after watching carefully the place from where the sound appeared to emanate they distinctly made out the crouching figure of a man. Doubtless our enemies finding us on the qui vive had postponed their attack.

At midnight came my turn of duty. My post as sentry was behind a stone, the base of which was shrouded in tangled creepers. My companion and I soon made a tolerably comfortable resting place, each selecting a separate side of the rock, so that the approach to it on two sides was commanded. The night was calm and starlit; and but for the frogs, lizards, and crickets, it would have been as quiet as death. Hour flitted after hour till daybreak could not much longer be delayed, when a prairie wolf howled in front of us, and was answered by another on the left hand. These howls were of such frequent occurrence that they did not excite my attention. Again came another howl, to which several answers were made. I felt my foot kicked by my companion, a splendid specimen of the Missourian, who although not more than six or seven and

twenty, had spent at least half his life on the plains. I bent towards him to ascertain the object of his warning, and in a whisper he informed me that what I had supposed to be the howl of prairie wolves, was an Indian signal, and that I had better keep my eyes open.

I knew so well the character of the man that I felt convinced he was right, so if possible I increased my vigilance. Still nothing was seen, and I was beginning to hope that we were to have a quiet termination to our watch, when I saw, or thought I saw, a black man moving along the plain slowly, not over thirty paces from our position. The longer I gazed the more firmly I became convinced that what I saw was a man crouching on all fours, and so was hesitating whether I should fire or not, when again my comrade kicked me. At this signal I was about to take aim on the suspicious object when two kicks and a whisper, not to hurry, stopped me. Again all was still, when my fellow sentry told me sotto voce, "that he had spotted another, and we had better both give them some lead." I saw the muzzle of his rifle shoved forward, I advanced mine likewise, covering the red-skin in front of me, but waited for my companion to shoot before I pressed my trigger. For some time there was a painful silence, such as you could hear your heart beat in. heart beat in. At length the muzzle of my friend's rifle seemed to come down slowly, but steadily, almost to the level of the ground; he was taking sight, so I did likewise. Immediately afterwards the report of his gun broke the echoes, followed by mine a moment afterwards, but not sufficiently rapid to drown a shrill scream; such a cry as once heard is never to be for