the meantime, and that they are not likely to find
about here," observed Moggs, as he sat down and struck a light to
rekindle the fire. Laurence had collected a supply of dried branches,
of which there was an abundance in the surrounding woods.

"We must keep the fire burning during the night, or the savage creatures
may chance to pay us a visit; and if they find us napping, they may
treat us as they have our horses," continued the old man. "To-morrow
morning, we shall have our revenge, and I shall be vexed indeed if we do
not find two or three of the brutes in the traps."

The day was spent, as many before had been passed when they were not
travelling or setting their snares, in scraping furs, greasing their
traps, and cleaning the old man's highly-prized rifle.

Their conversation related wholly to the occupation in which they were
engaged; of other matters young Laurence knew nothing. He was a true
child of the desert. His early days had been spent in the wigwam of an
Indian squaw, who had taught him the legends and faith of her people.
Beyond that period his recollections were very faint. He had remained
with her until Michael Moggs, who called himself his father, came for
him and took him away. He had almost forgotten his native tongue; but
from that time, by constantly associating with the old trapper, he soon
again learned to speak it. Of the Christian faith he knew nothing, for
Moggs and himself were utterly ignorant of its truths; while they had
imbibed many of the superstitions of the savage Indians, the only human
beings with whom they had for long years associated. Laurence believed
firmly in the Great Spirit who governs the destinies of the Red men of
the desert--in the happy hunting-grounds, the future abode of brave
warriors who die fighting on the battle-field--in the existence of
demons, who wander through the forests in search of victims--and in the
occult powers of wizards and medicine men. He had been taught that the
only objects in life worthy of the occupation of men were war and the
chase--that he should look with contempt on those who, he had heard,
spent their time in the peaceful business of agriculture and commerce;
that revenge and hatred of foes were the noblest sentiments to be
cultivated in the human breast; and that no act was more worthy than to
kill a foe, or a feeling more delightful than to witness his suffering
under torture. Yet the heart of young Laurence was not hardene