s position
a few moments, he beckoned Glenn to him.

"Place your ear against this crevice," said Boone.

"It is not the Indians I hear, certainly!" remarked Glenn. The sounds
resembled the ticking of a large clock, differing only in their
greater rapidity than the strokes of seconds.

"Most certainly it is nothing else," replied Boone.

"But how do they produce such singular sounds? Is it the trampling of
feet?" continued Glenn.

"It is the sound of many tomahawks cutting a passage," replied Boone.

"But what disposition do they make of the snow, when it is cut loose."

"A portion of them dig, while the rest convey the loose snow out and
cast it down the cliff."

While the above conversation was going on, a colloquy of a different
nature transpired within the house. Joe, after recovering from his
second temporary insensibility, had sunk into a gentle doze, which
lasted many minutes. Mary had bathed his face repeatedly with sundry
restoratives, and likewise administered a cordial that she had brought
from her father's house, which seemed to have a most astonishing
somniferous effect. When the contents of the bottle were exhausted,
she sat silently by, watching Joe's apparent slumber, and felt
rejoiced that her patient promised a speedy recovery. Once, after she
had been gazing at the fawn, (that had been suffered to occupy a place
near the wall, where it was now coiled up and sleeping,) on turning
her eyes towards the face of Joe, she imagined for a moment that she
saw him close his eyelids quickly. But calling him softly and
receiving no answer, she concluded it was a mere fancy, and again
resigned herself to her lonely watch. When she had been sitting thus
some minutes, watching him patiently, she observed his eyes open
slowly, and quickly smack to again, when he found that she was looking
at him. But a moment after, conscious that his wakefulness was
discovered, he opened them boldly, and found himself possessed of a
full recollection of all the incidents of the night up to his
disaster.

"Have they whipt all the Indians away that were standing out on the
snow, Miss Mary?"

"Yes, long ago--and none have been seen, but the one you killed, for
some time," she replied, encouragingly.

"Did I kill one sure enough?" asked Joe, while his eyes sparkled
exceedingly.

"Yes, indeed," replied she; "and I heard Mr. Boone say he was glad it
happened, and that the accident was, after all, a fortunate thing for
us."