we
could marry them without your assistance, but I respect the church, Mr
Tucker, and think it becoming to have a clergyman on occasions of this
kind."

Having settled this important piece of business, Kenneth MacFearsome
went off to make arrangements for the indispensable dance, and the
clergyman, being fond of equestrian exercise, went out alone for an
afternoon ride.

That same afternoon a band of Indians belonging to the Blackfeet tribe
encamped in a gloomy defile of the Rocky Mountains, not far from Mac's
Fort. It was easy to see that they were a war-party, for, besides being
armed to the teeth, their faces were hideously painted, and they had no
women or children with them.

They had stopped for the double purpose of eating a hasty meal and
holding a council of war.

One of the warriors stood up in the midst of his brethren and made a
speech, which, to judge from its effect on the others, must have been
highly inflammatory and warlike. During the delivery of it he turned
his ugly visage frequently, and pointed, with his blue-striped nose, as
it were, in the direction of Fort MacFearsome.

Whatever might have been the tendency of the speech, it was suddenly cut
short by the sound of a horse's hoofs clattering in the glen below.
After bestowing a united eagle glance on the approaching horseman, the
Blackfeet warriors turned a look of intelligence on each other, lay flat
down in the long grass, and melted from the scene as completely and
silently as snow-wreaths melt before the sun in spring.

The Reverend William Tucker was a muscular Christian. That is to say,
he believed that the body, as well as the soul, ought to be cultivated
to the highest possible extent--both having the same origin--and held
that physical health, strength, and vigour, if not absolutely necessary
to the advancement of Christianity in the earth, were at least eminently
conducive thereto. Holding such opinions, and being powerfully built,
he threw himself heart and soul into whatever he did. Hence the clatter
of his horse's hoofs as he galloped swiftly up the glen.

But the Reverend William Tucker was also merciful, and not only drew
rein when the path became too steep, but dismounted and led his steed by
the bridle when he reached the rugged ground near the spot where the
war-party had melted away.

Great and grand were the preparations made for the approaching
festivities at Mac's Fort. Michel, the cook, constructed a venison