title="33"/> rear. Whatever might take place, he did not intend to be surprised.

He had advanced a couple of rods in this manner, when a faint sound from the bell caught his ear, but was instantly suppressed, as though some one had stopped at the instant he started to sway it. Faint as was the tinkle, however, he was able to locate the precise point whence it came, and after a little hesitation he moved toward it.

All at once he caught sight of a figure in a crouching position, stepping softly among the trees and undergrowth. He stood still, and a moment later was able to distinguish the figure of an Indian warrior, bending slightly forward, advancing inch by inch and holding the cow-bell in his hand.

The Indian warrior whom Terry Clark saw advancing stealthily through the undergrowth, cow-bell in hand, was a frightful object. His head and shoulders were bent forward, and he was stepping slowly and silently, while he glanced from right to left, as if searching for some object, or awaiting the occurrence of an expected event. His face was daubed with black and red paint, his long hair, as coarse as that of a horse's tail, dangled about his shoulders and alongside his neck, so that his eyes, when staring through it, seemed to be blazing among so much tangled brush. The ordinary hunting shirt, fringed in front, inclosed his chest, and was gathered at the waist by a sash or belt into which were thrust his hunting knife and tomahawk. The usual breechcloth, leggins and moccasins completed his dress.

He carried a fine rifle in his left hand, in a trailing position, while a powder horn and bullet pouch were supported by a string passing over his shoulder. He was what may be called a thoroughly equipped warrior, without taking into account the cow-bell, which was suspended by the thumb and fingers of the right hand. It was thus he must have grasped the implement when he caused it to give out the sound that caught the ear of Fred Linden and Terry Clark. But at the moment the Irish lad saw him, and for some minutes after, he held the bell in such careful poise that it gave no sound at all.

The Indian probably suspected his imitation of the action of the animal was so poor that it was likely to cause distrust, and therefore he was sparing in resorting to the stratagem.

Now, nothing can be clearer than that if the warrior was in such a plain view of Terry Clark, the latter was equally exposed to his eye. The Indian was moving in his guarded fashion over a course at right angles to that followed by the lad, who was quick to realize his peril. He knew that every second he remained thus exposed he was likely to be seen. He had hardly taken a glance of his enemy, when he stooped so that his knees almost touched the ground, and moved as noiselessly and quickly as he could to the nearest tree, behind which he took shelter.

This tree was an oak, large enough to hide two such boys, standing side by side, so that the youth felt secure for the time.

"Ah, if I only had me gun," was the regret that naturally came to him; "I would quickly settle with the spalpeen that stole old Brindle, and now wants to run away wid me."

It will be admitted that the situation of Terry was peculiar, for he was quite close to the warrior, who, there was every reason to believe, was hunting for him, and who was so nigh that there was imminent danger of discovery. It might be asked why the redskin should have taken this course, for in some respects it had more than one absurd feature. If he wanted to kill a white person, all this maneuvering with a cow-bell was ridiculous, while his conduct from first to last was in some respects unreasonable. The best explanation was that which was made sometime afterward by a person, who as yet has not been introduced to the reader, but who, when he does appear, will be admitted to be the best judge. I allude to Deerfoot the Shawanoe.

The Indian with the cow-bell was a Winnebago warrior, whose home was a long ways to the northward, but who had gone thither in company with several others on what may be called a tour of investigation. The driving off of the cow was probably an inspiration of the moment. The Indians kept her until they had got all the milk they wanted, first removing the bell so that her friends could not recover her until they were through. The stratagem which I have been describing was an afterthought. None of the Winnebagos except the one who tried the plan would have any thing to do with it, though they were willing enough that every white person in the settlement of Greville should perish, if the same could be brought about without risk to them.

Left to himself, the Winnebago decided to make a prisoner of whomsoever should be sent to find the cow. He had reason to believe that this person would be a youth, and since every thing was so quiet in that section, he was not likely to be armed. Hence, it would be an easy matter to decoy him a goodly distance from the settlement, when the warrior could pounce upon, make him a prisoner and compel him to go with him. After the couple were far enough from the settlement the lad could be put to death, if his captor or the party to which the captor belonged, should so elect.

Terry Clark had stood behind the sheltering tree for perhaps five minutes, when he became aware of an alarming fact: the warrior with the bell was slowly approaching him. The faint tinkle that it gave out once or twice told this, and when finally the lad ventured to peep around the side of the tree, the sight was a startling one. The Indian had risen almost to the upright posture, and holding the gun and bell as described, was moving directly toward the oak behind which the boy stood. Moreover at the moment the latter took the cautious look, the visage of the Indian showed that he was looking straight at the tree.

"By the powers!" gasped Terry, "but the spalpeen observed me, and I'm thinkin' that he saw me before I did him."

It was not at all unlikely that such was the case. The Indian may have felt sure of his victim, and so he indulged in a little by-play, as a cat often does with a mouse. Such a cruel proceeding was characteristic of his race.

The belief that this was the case placed Terry Clark in a most trying position. He was without the means with which to defend himself, and in fact was hopeless. It was useless to try to run away, for if the warrior could not overtake him at once, he could bring him down with his rifle.

You know how rare a thing it is for an Irishman to submit meekly, even when there is no hope in resistance. Terry muttered:

"If he lays hands on me, there's going to be a fight; I wish Fred was near, that he could see that I git fair play."

No person could have been more in earnest than was the Irish lad.

"I'll wait till his head comes round the corner of that tree and then I'll give him a whack that'll tumble him over on his back, afore he knows what's the matter wid him; then I'll amuse myself wid hammerin' him after he is down till I git tired and then I'll take his gun and knife and tomahawk and the bell and make him walk before me to the sittlement."

The lad had just gone over in his mind this roseate programme, when a soft tinkle told him that the Winnebago was within a few steps of the tree; and at the same moment that the youth made this interesting discovery, another still more astonishing one broke upon him.

Just fifty feet away and behind a trunk very similar to the one that sheltered the lad, stood a second