ffect; for scarcely had the hat shown its
full size outside the trunk of the tree, before the Indian sent a ball
from his rifle through the hat, which Mayall lowered quickly to the
ground, and then listened with breathless anxiety the result. In this
condition he waited a long time.

All was silent as the tomb, excepting now and then the scream of a
fish-hawk or the singing of a hermit-thrush that had approached the bank
of the river after the firing had ceased, and seemed singing the funeral
dirge of the red warriors who had already fallen. All of a sudden the
thrush flew past Mayall into the forest, and the practiced ear of Mayall
heard a rippling in the stream, like running water dashing against some
slight obstruction. Anticipating the approach of the Indian warrior, he
stepped suddenly from behind the tree, whilst the Indian was struggling
with the current, and sent a ball from his rifle through the warrior's
heart. He then floated down the rapid current, and sunk in the deep
water below the rift.

Mayall then took his gunlock from the pocket of the Indian on the shore,
who had stayed behind to engineer and direct the crossing, placed it
upon his own gun, dragged the Indian into the current of the river, and
he, too, floated down, and sunk with the first two in the deep, dark
waters of the Susquehanna. He then washed out all traces of the bloody
strife, and bent his course homeward. He hurried on, avoiding the
trodden path of the red man, until he reached the mouth of the Otego
Creek, when night's sable curtain began to darken the landscape around
him. He then ascended a high peak of the mountain, that not only
overlooked the Valley of the Susquehanna, but also overlooked the lovely
Valley of the Otego Creek. Here, after finding a suitable spot, and
examining his rifle, and seeing that all was right, he laid down, weary
and exhausted, to rest, without kindling a fire.

The experience of the last two days had taught him a lesson long to be
remembered. As the night grew dark and chilly, he could see the fire
from his own cottage window gleam warm and bright from his lofty
mountain bed, distant twelve miles. The night seemed long and wild, and
still wilder round his lonely bed. The war was now raging between the
United States and Canada. The inhabitants of Cherry Valley had been
massacred, and he had come near losing his own life and liberty, and
time would only tell what would become of himself and family. The
One