till awake, sending up his
prayer to the only eye that saw him, and to the only one that could
assist him.

CHAPTER IX.

ZEB'S REVENGE.

When the King of Terrors shakes his sword at his victim, unwonted
yearnings come over the human heart. To die alone, removed from home and
friends, when strange faces are beside us, is a fate which we all
fervently pray may not be ours. Yet, when these strangers are enemies,
and our death is at their hands--when every shriek or moan elicits only
jeers and laughter, how unspeakably dreadful is the fate! He who has
lost a dear friend in war, that has languished and died in the hands of
strangers, and perhaps received no burial at their hands--he who mourns
such a loss, may be able to appreciate, in some degree, the mournful
situation of young Leland, in the hands of the malignant Shawnees.

It is at such times as these, if at no other, that the stricken and
bowed heart turns to the One who alone can cheer and sustain. When shut
out from all prospect of human help, and conscious that there is but one
arm which is not shortened, we do not draw back from calling upon that
arm to sustain us in the dark hour of trial.

With the dull glow of the slumbering camp-fire, the grotesque groups of
almost unconscious sleepers, the solemn sighing of the night-wind, and
the twinkle of the stars through the branches overhead--with such
mournful surroundings as these, George Leland sent up his prayer of
agony to God.

He prayed, not for life, but for the preparation to meet the death
impending. The soft wailing of the night-zephyr seemed to warn him that
the death-angel was approaching every moment. He prayed for his beloved
sister in the hands of ruthless enemies--prayed only as he could pray
when he realized her peril. And he sent up his petition for the safety
of Leslie, who might still be awaiting his return--for the rough ranger
with him, and for the rude, untutored negro, now his brother-prisoner.

A short distance away, he could discern the shadowy form of Zeb, bound
against a tree, while scattered around him were stretched the savage
sentinels, whether asleep or not he was unable to tell. As for that
matter, however, they might as well have been unconscious as awake, for
the slumber of the North American Indian is so delicate that a falling
leaf is sufficient to disturb it.

The heart of Leland bled for the poor ignorant colored man. His
prolonged silence showed that he had begun