be dashed to pieces.

At that moment a shout was heard in the woods, and Redfeather darting
out, rushed over the ledge of rock on which one end of the tree rested,
seized the trunk in his arms, and exerting all his strength, hurled it
over into the river. In doing so he stumbled, and ere he could recover
himself a branch caught him under the arm as the tree fell over, and
dragged him into the boiling stream. This accident was probably the
means of saving his life, for just as he fell the loud report of a gun
rang through the woods, and a bullet passed through his cap. For a
second or two both man and tree were lost in the foam, while the canoe
dashed past in safety. The next instant Wabisca passed the narrows in
her small craft, and steered for the tree. Redfeather, who had risen
and sunk several times, saw her as she passed, and making a violent
effort, he caught hold of the gunwale, and was carried down in safety.

"I'll tell you what it is," said Jacques, as the party stood on a rock
promontory after the events just narrated: "I would give a dollar to
have that fellow's nose and the sights o' my rifle in a line at any
distance short of two hundred yards."

"It was Misconna," said Redfeather. "I did not see him, but there's not
another man in the tribe that could do that."

"I'm thankful we escaped, Jacques. I never felt so near death before,
and had it not been for the timely aid of our friend here, it strikes me
that our wild life would have come to an abrupt close.--God bless you,
Redfeather," said Charley, taking the Indian's hand in both of his and
kissing it.

Charley's ebullition of feeling was natural. He had not yet become used
to the dangers of the wilderness so as to treat them with indifference.
Jacques, on the other hand, had risked his life so often that escape
from danger was treated very much as a matter of course, and called
forth little expression of feeling. Still, it must not be inferred from
this that his nature had become callous. The backwoodsman's frame was
hard and unyielding as iron, but his heart was as soft still as it was
on the day on which he first donned the hunting-shirt, and there was
much more of tenderness than met the eye in the squeeze that he gave
Redfeather's hand on landing.

As the four travellers encircled the fire that night, under the leafy
branches of the forest, and smoked their pipes in concert, while Wabisca
busied herself in clearing away the remnants o