ed for the settlements,
leaving her of course at his trading house.

"The ensuing autumn she had the pleasure to see him return, having now
conceived for him the most tender attachment. Upon his visit the
following season, she presented him with a fine daughter, born during
his absence, and whom she had nursed with the fondest attention. With
the infant in her arms, she had daily seated herself on the bank of
the river, and followed the downward course of the stream, with her
eye, to gain the earliest notice of his approach. Thus time passed on.
The second year the father greeted a son, and obtained his squaw's
reluctant consent to take their daughter with him on his return voyage
to the country of the white people. But, no sooner had he commenced
his voyage, and although she had another charge upon which to lavish
her caresses, than her maternal fondness overpowered her, and she ran
crying and screaming along the river side in pursuit of the boat,
tearing out her long flowing hair, and appearing to be almost bereft
of reason. On her return home she gave away every thing she possessed,
cut off her hair, went into deep mourning, and remained inconsolable.
She would often say that she well knew that her daughter would be
better treated than she could be at home, but she could not avoid
regarding her own situation to be the same as if the Wahconda had
taken away her offspring for ever.

"One day, in company with six other squaws, she was engaged in her
agricultural labours, her infant boy being secured to his cradle-like
board, which she had carefully reclined against a tree at a short
distance. They were discovered by a war-party of Sioux, who rushed
towards them, with the expectation of gratifying their vengeance by
securing all their scalps. An exclamation from her companions directed
her attention to the common enemy, and in her fright she fled
precipitately, but, suddenly recollecting her child, she swiftly
returned full in the face of the Sioux, snatched her child from the
tree, and turned to save its life, more precious than her own. She was
closely pursued by one of the enemy, when she arrived at a fence which
separated her from the field of the trading-house. A moment's
hesitation here would have been fatal; and, exerting all her strength,
she threw the child, with its board, as far as she could on the
opposite side.

"Four of the squaws were tomahawked, and the others escaped, of which
number the mother was o