the spot
where he had last seen the boy he made a careful examination of the
ground, and it was not long before his keen and practiced eye discovered
in the crushed leaves and bruised weeds the traces of three Indians. The
savages had evidently crept upon the child and made him their captive
before he could cry for help, while he who would have rescued him or
perished was blithely singing at his work on the other side of the
field. For several moments Big Black Burl stood as if dumbfounded,
gazing fixedly down at the hated foot-prints in the leaves. But when he
raised his eyes and beheld the cabin where, deserted and lonely, it
stood in the midst of the waving green, another look came into his
face--one of vengeful and desperate determination right terrible to
see.

Speeding back to the fort, he found his mistress standing in her cabin
door-way waiting and watching his return. No need to be told the
afflicting tidings, she read them in his hurried gait and dismayed
countenance. She uttered not a cry, shed not a tear, but, with lips and
cheeks blanched as with the hue of death, she sunk down upon a wooden
settee that stood close behind her. And there, at the door of her
desolate house, the widowed mother sat--continued to sit through the
long, sad, weary hours of absence and suspense, waiting and watching,
her eyes turned ever toward the perilous north. Fortunately about a
dozen of the hunters belonging to the station had just come in from the
forest, who, upon learning what had happened, promptly volunteered to
set out at once in pursuit of the savages and rescue, if possible, the
unlucky Bushie, the boy being a great favorite with everybody at the
fort.

No more work in the field that day for Big Black Burl--he must now leave
the peace-path to tread the war-path. But, before setting out, he must
touch up his toilet a little, for, though careless enough of his
personal appearance as a field-hand, our colored hero took a great pride
in coming out on grand occasions like the present in a guise more
beseeming his high reputation as an Indian-fighter. So, going at once to
his own cabin, where he kept all his war and martial rigging perpetually
ready for use in a minute's notice, he dashed through the process with a
celerity quite astonishing in one who was usually so heavy and
deliberate in his motions. First, he drew on his moccasins, each of
which was roomy enough to hide a half-grown raccoon; then, over his
buckskin