ed you."

"And are you not afraid to go where there are so many Indians?" asked
Tom.

"Yes," she replied, "I am afraid; and yet I feel strengthened to go.
Your father will be useful there. He is fitted to take the lead in
case of trouble with the savages; the settlers look up to him, and
depend upon him, and I cannot find it in my heart to hold him back;
and if he goes, it is best for me to be with him. If you remain
behind, we shall have in you a friend to assist us if any trouble
should arise. You might be able to do more for us here than if shut up
with us by a common danger."

And so, with many a last farewell by the fond mother, Tom saw them
start for their new home.

CHAPTER XV.

THE MASSACRE AT SPIRIT LAKE.

Between the settlement in which the missionary lived and the one next
north-east was a wide prairie, succeeded by a stretch of primitive
forests, through which, down its abysmal, rocky bed, ran a foaming
river. The limestone bluffs that formed its banks abounded in holes
and caves--fitting homes for wild beasts. Here the cry of the panther
might be heard, and bears and wolves sought their food.

Through these gloomy solitudes Tom was making his way in the buggy,
which the missionary had provided; for Tom had been intrusted with the
errand of going to the village beyond for a trunk which had arrived
from the east for Mr. Payson. He was jogging along, listening to the
strange sounds of the forest; for it was near here, the last winter,
that a sight met his gaze that he could never forget. There had been a
succession of those _still_ snow-storms which so often come in the
night in Minnesota, and go off at day-dawn, leaving a perfectly even
coating of snow over everything. The sleighing was quite passable,
and the weather, that day, mild. Coming suddenly to an open space,
within a few feet of him, were two large gray wolves, eating a horse
not yet dead. The poor beast was still attached to his team, and
hopelessly struggled against his twofold fate; for he had fallen into
a 'sink-hole' that the treacherous snow had concealed, and his driver,
unable to extricate him, had abandoned him to his fate, or gone for
help. Brandishing his whip, Tom shouted at the wolves in hope of
frightening them off. They only raised their heads to glare
threateningly at him, their jaws dripping blood, then voraciously
resumed their gory repast, tearing great quivering masses of flesh
from the struggling beast, which t