names. All these people were at that time sunk
in the most abject state of heathenism, and were constantly at war with
each other. They were clothed chiefly in skins made into leather,
ornamented with feathers and stained grass and beads. The tents of the
prairie Indians were of skins, and those of the Indians who inhabit the
woods of birch bark. Many had rifles, but others were armed only with
bows and spears, and the dreadful scalping-knife. Of these people the
Sioux bore the worst character, and were the great enemies of the
half-bred population of the settlements. These halfbreds, as they are
called, are descended from white fathers and Indian mothers. There are
some thousands of them in the settlements, and they live chiefly by
hunting and fishing, and retain many Indian customs and habits of life.
Such was the strangely mixed community among whom we found ourselves.

The autumn was coming on, and the days were shortening, but the weather
was very fine--sharp frosts at night, though warm enough, yet bracing,
with a bright sky and pure atmosphere during the day. Sometimes a light
silvery mist or haze hung over the landscape. Such is the Indian
summer, the most delightful period of the year in North America.

The day's work was over, and while my brother and I were preparing the
table, and Sam Dawes was cooking the supper, we were startled by a loud
and peculiar shout, or rather shriek. Our father, who had been sitting
reading, started up, and taking his rifle from the wall, turned to the
door. Sam, quitting his frying-pan, also took down his rifle and
followed with us. In the distance was an Indian decked with war paint
and feathers bounding over the ground towards us, while further off were
five or six more, as if in hot pursuit of the first.

"That first fellow is an Ojibway by his adornments, and a young man by
the way he runs," observed Sam. "He's seeking protection here, that's
poz."

"And he shall enjoy it, though we should have to fight for him,"
observed my father warmly. "We must teach the Red men that we always
protect those in distress."

The fugitive came on at great speed. He was flying for his life. His
pursuers, however, were gaining on him. They had fire-arms in their
hands, but did not use them.

"They have exhausted their powder," observed my father. "That is
fortunate."

The young Indian was within fifty yards of us. We could see the gleam
of the scalping knives which h