vered, when
due. The Indians were cheated by traders, and the debts due the latter
were taken from the money to be paid the former. The neglect of the
government,--fully occupied in suppressing the rebellion at the
South,--and the immense frauds practised upon the simple natives,
roused their indignation, and stirred up a hatred which culminated in
the most terrible Indian massacre recorded in the annals of our
country.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE INDIAN MASSACRE.

Though there were no Indians residing very near the Lake Settlement,
they frequently visited the place, and the settlers were on familiar
terms with them. At the house of John Grant they were always treated
with kindness and a generous hospitality. Among those who sometimes
came was a chief called Lean Bear. Fanny was much interested in these
denizens of the forest, and she exerted herself to please them, and
particularly the chief of the Red Irons, as his tribe was called. She
sang to him, brought him milk and bread, and treated him like a great
man. He was a brawny fellow, morose and savage, and though he smiled
slightly, he did not seem to appreciate her kindness.

About the 15th of August, when Fanny had been at the settlement less
than two months, Mr. Grant started for one of the Indian Agencies, on
the Minnesota River, for the purpose of procuring supplies of the
traders in that vicinity. He went with a wagon and a span of horses,
intending to be absent ten days.

One morning, when he had been gone a week, Mrs. Grant was milking the
cows, of which they kept twenty. Ethan was helping her, and Fanny, not
yet a proficient in the art, was doing what she could to assist.
Doubtless she was rather bungling in the operation, for the cow was not
as patient as usual.

"Seems like you gals from the east don't know much," laughed Ethan.
"You are on the wrong side of the creetur."

"So I am! I thought there was something wrong, for the cow don't stand
quiet," replied Fanny.

"No wonder; cows allers wants things did accordin' to rule," added
Ethan.

"I didn't mind that I was on the wrong side."

"What do the gals do out east that they don't know how to milk?"

"They don't milk there."

"They don't do nothin'--do they?"

"Not much; at least, they didn't at Woodville."

"Well, gals isn't good for much, nohow," said Ethan, philosophically,
as he commenced milking another cow.

"They can do some things as well as boys."

"Perhaps they kin; but you