w into a hole in the end of
it, applied it to his mouth. In another moment the arrow flew through
the air and grazed a bird that was sitting on a branch hard by.

"'Tis a blow-pipe, and no mistake!" cried Barney.

"And a poisoned arrow, I'm quite sure," added Martin; "for it only
ruffled the bird's feathers, and see, it has fallen to the ground."

"Och, then, but we'd have stood a bad chance in a fight if thim's the
wipons they use. Och, the dirty spalpeens! Martin, dear, we're done
for. There's no chance for us at all."

This impression seemed to take such deep hold of Barney's mind, that his
usually reckless and half jesting disposition was completely subdued,
and he walked along in gloomy silence, while a feeling of deep dejection
filled the heart of his young companion.

The blow-pipe which these Indians use is an ingeniously contrived
weapon. It is made from a species of palm-tree. When an Indian wants
one, he goes into the woods and selects a tree with a long slender stem
of less than an inch in diameter; he extracts the pith out of this, and
then cuts another stem, so much larger than the first that he can push
the small tube into the bore of the large one,--thus the slight bend in
one is counteracted by the other, and a perfectly straight pipe is
formed. The mouth-piece is afterwards neatly finished off. The arrows
used are very short, having a little ball of cotton at the end to fill
the tube of the blow-pipe. The points are dipped in a peculiar poison,
which has the effect of producing death when introduced into the blood
by a mere scratch of the skin. The Indians can send these arrows an
immense distance, and with unerring aim, as Martin and Barney had many
an opportunity of witnessing during their long and weary journey on foot
to the forest-home of the savages.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

WORSE AND WORSE--EVERYTHING SEEMS TO GO WRONG TOGETHER.

Although the Indians did not maltreat the unfortunate strangers who had
thus fallen into their hands, they made them proceed by forced marches
through the wilderness; and as neither Barney nor Martin had been of
late much used to long walks, they felt the journey very severely. The
old trader had been accustomed to everything wretched and unfortunate
and uncomfortable from his childhood, so he plodded onward in silent
indifference.

The country through which they passed became every day more and more
rugged, until at length it assumed the character o