ground. Lead,
bullets, slugs, and tools of various kinds were buried or concealed in
the forks of trees, high up and out of sight. Where any articles were
buried in the earth, a fire was afterwards built on the surface so
that no trace of the disturbed ground should be left to show the
expected redskins that goods had been there concealed. They lamented
that a sack of flour and a keg of molasses could not be put away, and
that their supply of side-meat, which had cost them a long journey to
Manhattan, must be abandoned to the foe--if he came to take it. But
everything that could be hidden in trees or buried in the earth was so
disposed of as rapidly as possible.

Perhaps the boys, after the first flush of apprehension had passed,
rather enjoyed the novelty and the excitement. Their spirits rose as
they privately talked among themselves of the real Indian warfare of
which this was a foretaste. They hoped that it would be nothing worse.
When the last preparations were made, and they were ready to depart
from their home, uncertain whether they would ever see it again,
Sandy, assisted by Oscar, composed the following address. It was
written in a big, boyish hand on a sheet of letter-paper, and was left
on the table in the middle of their cabin:--

GOOD MISTER INDIAN: We are leaving in a hurry and we want you to
be careful of the fire when you come. Don't eat the corn-meal in
the sack in the corner; it is poisoned. The flour is full of
crickets, and crickets are not good for the stomach. Don't fool
with the matches, nor waste the molasses. Be done as you would
do by, for that is the golden rule.

Yours truly,
THE WHITTIER SETTLERS.

Even in the midst of their uneasiness and trouble, their elders
laughed at this unique composition, although Mr. Bryant thought that
the boys had mixed their version of the golden rule. Sandy said that
no Cheyenne would be likely to improve upon it. So, with many
misgivings, the little party closed the door of their home behind
them, and took up their line of march to the rendezvous.

The shortest way to Battles's was by a ford farther down the river,
and not by the way of the Younkins place. So, crossing the creek on a
fallen tree near where Sandy had shot his famous flock of ducks, and
then steering straight across the flat bottom-land on the opposite
side, the party struck into a trail that led through