I went along all right till I come to a bit where the
trail seemed to go right over it. My heart gave a jump, for I seed at a
glance that a bit o' the cliff had given way there, an' as there was no
sign o' the trail farther on, of course I knowed that the Injin, whoever
he was, must have gone down with it.

"I tried to look over, but it was too steep an' dangerous, so I sought
for a place where I could clamber down. Sure enough, when I reached the
bottom, there lay the poor Redskin. I thought he was dead, for he'd
tumbled from a most awful height, but a tree had broke his fall to some
extent, and when I went up to him I saw by his eyes that he was alive,
though he could neither speak nor move.

"I soon found that the poor lad was damaged past recovery; so, after
tryin' in vain to get him to speak to me, I took him in my arms as
tenderly as I could and carried him to my camp. It was five miles off,
and the road was rough, and although neither groan nor complaint escaped
him, I knew that poor Oswego suffered much by the great drops o'
perspiration that rolled from his brow; so, you see, I had to carry him
carefully. When I'd gone about four miles I met a small Injin boy who
said he was Oswego's brother, had seen him fall, an', not bein' able to
lift him, had gone to seek for help, but had failed to find it.

"That night I nursed the lad as I best could, gave him some warm tea,
and did my best to arrange him comfortably. The poor fellow tried to
speak his gratitude, but couldn't; yet I could see it in his looks. He
died next day, and I buried him under a pine-tree. The poor
heart-broken little brother said he knew the way back to the wigwams of
his tribe, so I gave him the most of the provisions I had, told him my
name, and sent him away."

At this point in the story Unaco rose abruptly, and said to Bevan--

"The white man will follow me."

Paul rose, and the chief led him into the forest a short way, when he
turned abruptly, and, with signs of emotion unusual in an Indian, said--

"Your name is Paul Bevan?"

"It is."

"I am the father of Oswego," said the chief, grasping Paul by the hand
and shaking it vigorously in the white man's fashion.

"I know it, Unaco, and I know you by report, though we've never met
before, and I told that story in your ear to convince ye that my tongue
is _not_ `forked.'"

When Paul Bevan returned to the camp fire, soon afterwards, he came
alone, and both his arms were free.