id not show the crimson
tide. With a sudden, mighty effort he checked the natural look and
exclamation of surprise. That was the moment of danger past. To
continue his praise of the lovely scene in gay delighted tones was
comparatively easy.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he said, turning his face full towards the
ambushed savages, gazing over their place of concealment with an
unconscious joyous air, and sweeping his hand towards the mountains, as
if to draw the attention of his companion to them. March's only weapon
at that moment was the small hatchet he was wont to carry in his girdle.
This implement chanced to be in his hand. Placing it carelessly in his
belt, as though nothing was further from his mind than the idea of
requiring to use it at that time, he cried--

"See, yonder is a mound from which we may get a better view," and
trotted to the summit of the spot alluded to. In doing so, he placed
himself still nearer to the Indians. This was a bold stroke, though a
dangerous one, meant to deceive the enemy. After gazing a few seconds
from this spot, he wheeled round and walked his horse quietly towards
the entrance to the pass. Arrived there, he turned, and pretending that
he saw something in the far distance, he shaded his eyes with his hand
and gazed for a short time intently, then calling to Bertram, who still
remained in his original position all unconscious of his danger, said--

"I say, come here; look at yonder splendid lake, it's worth
seeing--_well_ worth seeing; and if you don't see it with that _curious
light_ on it, you'll not care to see it at all."

March did not dare, by energy of voice, to force his friend's attention,
therefore the first part of this speech was unheeded; but the reference
to a "curious light" had the desired effect. Bertram turned, and rode
to join his companion. Getting Bertram into such a position that his
own person partially screened him from the Indians, he made the
following remarkable speech, from beginning to end, in the gay tones of
one who discourses eloquently on the beauties of nature; pointing here
and there as he rattled on.

"An't it beautiful? eh? I say, just look at it now!--listen to me,
Bertram--attentively, but gaze admiringly at the scene--_at the scene_--
oh! man, _do_ what I bid ye--your life hangs on it. _Pretend_ to admire
it--we're in great danger--but--"

"Eh? what? where?" exclaimed the artist in a tone of intense excitement,
at the same tim