hus cutting short his
career of glory in the very prime and flower of his doghood. Be all this
as it may, of one thing we are sure, that after that ever-to-be-remembered
first of June, 1789, never was the war-dog seen again on the war-path with
Captain Reynolds, the Fighting Nigger, the Big Black Brave with a Bushy
Head, Mish-mugwa.

It was a beautiful Sabbath morning "in the leafy month of June." Blue
and sunny and loving hung the sky above the dark, green, perilous
wilderness, where our pioneer fathers, in daily jeopardy of their lives,
were struggling to secure for themselves and their children after them a
home in the land so highly favored by Heaven. That morning, on
presenting himself at Mrs. Reynolds's door, Kumshakah was pronounced by
the good woman to be healed of his wound, and told that he might now
depart in peace to his own land and people.

With a sorrowful face Burl took down the young Indian's rifle from where
it had lain with the others in the rifle-hooks against his cabin wall,
and having cleaned and loaded it with care, returned it to its owner,
along with his powder-horn and ammunition-pouch, liberally reenforced
with ammunition from his own store. Then he arrayed himself from top to
toe in his martial rigging, proposing, as it was Sunday, to escort his
captive guest some miles into the wilderness, till he had seen him safe
across the border. Having, through Burl's influence, gained his mother's
permission to accompany them, Bushie, likewise in honor of the occasion,
had put on a clean homespun cotton shirt and a pair of buckskin
moccasins, which, with the eagle feathers in his coon-skin cap and his
white stone pipe worn tomahawk-wise in his girdle, lent him quite a
holiday appearance. All being ready, the three then went to Mrs.
Reynolds's door, that Kumshakah might bid farewell to his kind hostess.

"Farewell, Kumshakah," said the good woman, extending her hand. "May the
Great Father of us all, whom you call the Great Spirit, have you now and
have you ever in his holy keeping, and reward you according to your
wondrous kindness to my poor helpless boy in his hour of need."

With deep respect the young brave approached and took the proffered
hand, which, with delicate emphasis, he shook just once, and there was a
shining in his bright, wild eyes, as eloquent of gratitude as had it
been the glistening of a tear. In further answer to her words, the
purport whereof he had read in her face and voice,