gure. The man was an Indian and was allowing the
canoe to drift. But why should the turkey-buzzards follow him? As I
pondered over this problem and waited to learn whether he be friendly or
hostile, there came the _spang_ of a rifle from my side of the river and
above me.

A second shot quickly followed and I thought the figure in the canoe
lurched to one side a bit. Still there was no attempt made to use the
paddle. The shrill ear-splitting scream of a panther rang out, and this
like the two shots was on my side of the river. That the Indian made no
move to escape was inexplicable unless the first shot had killed him
outright.

The canoe was deflected toward my hiding-place, and I expected to hear
another brace of shots from above me. But there was no more shooting, and
the canoe swung in close enough for me to observe the Indian was holding
something between his teeth. I now recognized him as a friendly native, a
Delaware; and anxious to protect him from those lurking on the bank I
showed myself and softly called:

"Bald Eagle is in danger! Paddle in here."

He paid no attention to my greeting, although the canoe continued its
approach until it grounded against the bank. I slipped down to the water
to urge him to come ashore and take cover. He was a well-known chief, and
for years very friendly to the whites. The thing he held in his mouth was
a piece of journey-cake, only he was not eating it as I had first
supposed. As I gained the canoe I noticed a paddle placed across it so as
to support his back, and another so braced as to prop up his head.

The man was dead. There was a hideous wound at the back of his head. He
had been struck down with an ax. While I was weighing this gruesome
discovery the scream of the panther rang out again and close by, and the
bushes parted and I wheeled in time to strike up a double-barrel rifle a
young man was aiming at the chief.

"You've fired at him twice already, Shelby Cousin," I angrily rebuked.
"Isn't that about enough?"

"Nothin' ain't 'nough till I git his sculp," was the grim reply; and
Cousin, scarcely more than a boy, endeavored to knock my rifle aside. "At
least you ought to kill before you scalp," I said.

His lips parted and his eyes screwed up into a perplexed frown and he
dropped the butt of his rifle to the ground. Holding the barrels with both
hands, he stared down at the dead man.

"Some one bu'sted him with a' ax most vastly," he muttered. "An' me
wastin'