off at once.

Isidore rose and went out; then, seating himself on a great stump that
stood near the door, he gazed out upon the still and desolate
landscape, which was just distinguishable in the first grey light of
morning. He had become absorbed in a reverie on the events that had
brought him into so strange a locality when he felt his arm lightly
touched, and, looking round, beheld, to his great astonishment, a young
Indian girl standing by his side. His first impulse was to start up
and give the alarm to his companions; then came a feeling of shame at
such an idea as he scanned the girl's face, from which one might have
supposed her to be twelve or thirteen years old at most, although,
judging from her stature and figure, she was probably some years older.
There was, however, a strangely forlorn expression on her features that
went to Isidore's heart as he looked at her. Perhaps she noticed the
impression she had made upon him, for she again laid her hand upon his
arm, saying, timidly, "The pale faces are very wise. Can the young
warrior tell Amoahmeh where _they_ are?"

This was much too mysterious for Isidore; in fact, it suggested to him
at once all sorts of Indian wiles and stratagems. What if there was a
whole tribe of red men in the next cover! Without more ado he called
to Boulanger and Pritchard, who instantly came rushing out of the
building rifle in hand.

"Hola! what have we here?" exclaimed Boulanger, looking round as if
the Indian girl had suggested to him the same possibility of an Indian
attack as had occurred to Isidore.

"Oh, 'tis only Amoahmeh," said Pritchard, quietly, as he recognised the
cause of their alarm. "It is all right; she is the half-witted Indian
girl--if she has any wits at all--of whom I was telling you. I fancy
some of the red skins with whom her tribe were at war butchered all her
family in bygone days, and she is always bothering one to tell her
where _they_ are--I suppose she means her kith and kin. I always tell
her that it is of no use asking what has become of a lot of heathens
like them."

"But," said Isidore, rather interested in the poor girl, "how was it
she escaped when all her friends were killed?"

"Well," replied Pritchard; "perhaps she became crazy then, and was
spared on that account. The red skins are queer folk, and never harm
crazy people. For that matter, they might teach a lesson to some that
call themselves Christians. They seem to think id