Lost in the Backwoods

h evil: his neighbour findeth n

r evenings, is productive of much chilling. They could not account for the fact that the air at night was much warmer on the high hills than in the low valleys; they were even sensible of a rush of heat as they ascended to the higher groun

, near a hidden spring, where she had lain herself down to die in peace, far from the haunts of her fellows. The arrow was in her throat; it was of white flint, and had evidently been sent from an Indian bow. It was almost with fear and trembling that they availed themselves of the venison thus providentially thrown in their way, lest the Indians should track the blood of the doe, and take vengeance on t

ndian camp. "I am tired of remaining shut up in this dull place, where we can see nothing bu

od, and but a few miles of forest intervened to hide it from their sight. Had he known it, how

il us. We know not how near we are to the fulfilment of our wishes; we see only the insurmountable barriers, the dark thickets and thorns of our way; and we know

f the Indians imposed upon his movements; he wanted to se

from the Indians that used to visit us at Cold Springs; w

justified in killing us if he found us on his hunting-grounds. I have heard my father say-and he knows a great deal about these people-that their chiefs are very strict in punishing any strangers that the

nd upon any point, he had too good an opinion of his own judgment to give it up. At last he declared his intention, rather than remain a slave to such cowardly fears as he now d

and would be more likely to kill us if they found us cowering here in this hole like a parcel of w

his sister, passionately weeping. "Ah! if w

an camp is broken up; they seldom stay long in one place. I will go over the hills and examine the camp at a distance a

see you, and take you prisoner," s

em understand that I am no scout, but a friend in need of nothing but kindness and friendship. I never yet hear

ieve that you have fallen into the hands of the savag

; but if evil were to befall this helpless one, her blood would be u

ave been all three together; I should never have been happy again if I had lost both Hec and you. It is better as it is; you an

of my little cousin, and I could not consent to exposing you to danger, o

and Catharine became more reconciled to his leaving them, and soon busied th

for her brother's return. At last, unable to endure the suspense, she with Louis left the shelter of the valley; they a

cast its lengthened shadow upon the ground before them. The shades of evening were shrouding them, wrapping the lonely forest in gloom. The full

t with watching and anxiety, Catharine leaned her head upon the neck of old Wolfe and fell asleep, while Louis restlessly paced to and fro in front of the sleeper

, from many a hollow oak and birch, the spectral night-hawk from hidden dens, where it had lain hushed in silence all day from dawn till sunset. Sometimes their sharp hard wings almost swept his cheek as they wheeled round and round in circles, first narrow, then wide, and wider extending, till at last they soared far above the t

t, and joyfully he hailed the first gush of moonlight that r

the dark shaggy neck of the faithful Wolfe, who seemed as if proud of the beloved burden that rested so trustingly upon him. Sometimes the careful dog just

t cruel," he thought, "to leave them the prey of such tormenting fears on his account;" and then the most painful fears for the safety of his beloved companion took the place of less kindly thought

ull light of the moon. It is an open cleared space, that mound beneath the pine-tree; a few low shrubs and seedling pines, with the slender waving branches of the late-flowering pearly-tinted a

me that Wolfe gives; there is something uneasy and half angry in his tone. Yet it is not

ge of the inclined plane in the foreground. The slow tread of appr

that he half leads, half carries. The moonlight streams broad and bright upon the shrinking figure of an Indian girl apparently about the same age as Catharine: her ashy face is concealed by the long mass of raven black hair which falls like a dark veil over her features;

with him. The stranger lay down, and in a few minutes sank into a sleep so profound it seemed to resemble that of death itself. Pity and deep interest soon took the place of curiosity and dread in the heart of t

at the mouth of the creek. All seemed as silent and still as if no human footstep had trodden the shore. I sat down and watched for nearly an hour, till my attention was attracted by a noble eagle, which was sailing in wide circles over the tall pine-trees on Bare Hill. Assured that the Indian

er hands and feet were fastened by thongs of deer-skin to branches of the tree, which had been bent downward for that purpose. Her position was a most painful one. She had evidently been thus left to perish by a miserable death of hunger and thirst; for these savages, with a fiendis

hair of her head to the tree against which her back was placed. I was obliged to cut the hair with my knife; and this I did not do without giving her pain, as she moaned impatiently. She sank her head on her breast, and large tears fell over my hands as I bathed her face and neck with the water from the jar. She then seated herself on the ground, and remained silent and still for the space of an hour; nor could I prevail upon her to speak, or quit the seat she had taken. Fearing that the Indians might return, I watched in all directions, and at last I began to think it would be best to carry her in my arms; but this I found no easy task, for she seemed greatly distressed at any attempt I made to lift her, and by her gestures I fancied she thought I was going t

rother's adventures. She seemed to think he had been inspired by God to go forth t

ed for the young savage, and he commen

ss. They did not go back to their cave beneath the upturned trees to sleep, preferring lying, with their fe

t fragment of her apron; she steeped dried berries in water, and gave the cooling drink to quench the fever-thirst that burned in her veins and glittered in her full soft melancholy dark eyes, which were raised at intervals to the race of her youthful nurse with a timid hurried glance, as if she longed yet feared to say, "Who are you that thus tenderly bathe my aching