ich
Blonay rested, prevented him. He then selected from some fallen limbs
one of the largest, which he carried to the tree and thrust into the
hollow, trying to wedge it between the inner knobs on which the feet of
the half-breed evidently were placed. But Blonay soon became aware of
his design, and opposed it with a desperate effort. Baffled for a long
time by his enemy, Humphries became enraged, and, seizing upon a jagged
knot of light wood, he thrust it against one of the legs of Blonay.
Using another heavy knot as a mallet, he drove the wedge forward against
the yielding flesh, which became awfully torn and lacerated by the sharp
edges of the wood. Under the severe pain, the feet were drawn up, and
Humphries was suffered to proceed with his original design. The poor
wretch, thus doomed to be buried alive, was now willing to come to any
terms, and agreed to accept the offer to fight; but Humphries refused
him, exclaiming, 'No, you don't, you cowardly skunk! you shall die in
your hole, like a varmint as you are; and the tree which has been your
house shall be your coffin. There you shall stay, if hard chunks and
solid wood can keep you, until your yellow flesh rots away from your
bones. You shall stay there until the lightning rips open your coffin,
or the autumn winds tumble you into the swamp.' So saying, he left him,
and went back to the camp--left him to die in the old woods, where
no help could ever come; and in this wild and awful manner--buried
alive--perished the savage half-breed."

"That was an awful death, indeed," exclaimed Mrs. Harmar. "That
Humphries must have been a very disagreeable fellow."

"And why so?" enquired Higgins. "The men in those parts of the country
were forced to be as fierce as their foes. Humphries was one of the
cleverest fellows I ever knew."

"A man after your own heart," remarked Smith. "A warm friend and a warm
foe. I know you, Higgins."

"You should know me, Smith, or no man should," replied Higgins,
evidently profoundly satisfied with himself.

"Many a time have we messed together," added Smith; "ay, and many a time
have we hunted in company for the food we made a mess of."

"Those times are gone," said old Harmar mournfully. "Those times are
gone."

"I wonder where?" put in Mrs. Harmar's youngest, looking up in her face
for an answer. She smoothed his hair, and shook her head.

STORY OF THE DEATH OF COLONEL LOVELACE.

"Speaking of awful deaths," said Morton, "remind