found the unfortunate
Flintheads whom we had left bound.

"I hope, Short," said I, "that they respected our intentions, and left
them there unhurt."

"They left them there, you may be sure, Dick," answered Sam quietly.
"But you may be equally sure that they cut the throats of every mother's
son of them."

"Cruel, murderous wretches!" I exclaimed.

"It's their way of doing things," said Sam. "As they are taught in
their youth, so they act now they've grown up. If you had been taught
to scalp your enemies when you were a boy, you'd do the same with
pleasure now, whenever you had a chance!"

I could not deny that this would too probably have been the case, and
therefore made no further remarks on the subject, only feeling thankful
that I had been born in a Christian land, and brought up with Christian
principles.

The meeting with these Indians caused another short delay, and they and
their wives, and children, and dogs, falling into the rear of our party,
we all proceeded together. The women and children, I ought to have
said, had been hid away among the rocks, and were only produced at the
last moment, as we were moving on. We could not object to White Dog's
tribe accompanying us, but as they came but scantily furnished with
provisions, we were under some considerable apprehension that they would
create a famine in our camp.

A strong party of us, consisting of Short and Noggin, and some of the
Raggets, and myself, with old White Dog and several of his tribe, now
pushed on to occupy the pass which led into the one through which we
were travelling. We soon reached it, and, climbing up the surrounding
heights, looked around. As far as the eye could range, not a moving
obstacle was visible; all was silent and solitary. We had purposely
concealed ourselves in case an enemy should be approaching, and as I
stood on that mountain height looking out into the distance over
interminable snow-covered ranges of rock, I was more sensible than I had
ever before been of the sensation of solitude; never before had I
remarked silence so perfect. Truly it seemed as if Nature was asleep.
So she was: it was the sleep of winter.

In England, where birds are constantly flying about, and often insects
humming, even at Christmas, we have no conception of the utter want of
all appearance of life in the mountain regions in which I was now
travelling. We waited on the watch till the main body of our party came
up, and then, s