fear, by the savage's death, crying in vain to his unknown auxiliary
for assistance. He exerted his voice, until the woods rang with his
shouts; but hollow echoes were the only replies: neither voice nor
returning footstep was to be heard; and it seemed as if he had been
rescued from the Indians' hands, only to be left, bound and helpless, to
perish piecemeal among their bodies. The fear of a fate so dreadful, with
the weight of the old Piankeshaw, a man of almost gigantic proportions,
lying upon his bosom, was more than his agonised spirits and exhausted
strength could endure; and his wounds suddenly bursting out afresh, he
lapsed into a state of insensibility, in which, however, it was happily
his fate not long to remain.

CHAPTER XXII.

When Roland recovered his consciousness, he was no longer a prisoner
extended beneath the Indian cross. His limbs were unbound, and he himself
lying across the knees of a man who was busily engaged sprinkling his
head and breast with water from the little well, to which he had been
borne while still insensible. He stared around him with eyes yet filmy
and vacant. The first objects they fell on were two lifeless figures, the
bodies of his late savage masters, stretched near the half-extinguished
fire. He looked up to the face of his deliverer, which could be readily
seen, for it was now broad day, and beheld, with such a thrill of
pleasure as had not visited his bosom for many weary days, the features
of his trusty guide and emissary, honest Nathan Slaughter, who was
pursuing the work of resuscitation with great apparent zeal, while little
dog Peter stood by wagging his tail, as if encouraging him to
perseverance.

"What, Nathan!" he cried, grasping at his hand, and endeavouring, though
vainly, to rise from his knee, "do I dream! is it _you_?"

"Verily, thee speaks the truth," replied Nathan;--"it is me,--me and
little Peter; and, truly, it is nobody else."

"And I am free again? free, free!--And the savages? the vile, murdering
Piankeshaws? Dead! surprised, killed,--every dog of them!"

"Thee speaks the truth a second time," said Nathan Slaughter, snuffling
and hesitating in his speech: "thee wicked enemies and captivators will
never trouble thee more."

"And who, who was it that rescued me? Hah! there is blood on your face!
your hands are red with it! It was _you_, then, that saved me? _you_ that
killed the accursed cut-throats? Noble Nathan! brave Nathan! true Nathan