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the streams of blood on the snow and ice, she followed close as a shadow behind me, but said nothing.

Suddenly there was a sharp yell, a volley of oaths, exclamations, a scuffle and blows.

u Scalp him ! Scalp him ! the little savage ! Scalp him and throw him in the river !"

From out the piles of dead somewhere, no one could tell exactly where or when, an apparition had sprung up a naked little Indian boy, that might have been all the way from twelve to twenty, armed with a knotted war-club, and fallen upon his foes like a fury.

The poor little hero, starved into a shadow, stood little show there, though he had been a very Hercules in courage. He was felled almost instantly by kicks and blows ; and the very number of his enemies saved his life, for they could neither shoot nor stab him with safety, as they crowded and crushed around him.

How or why he was finally spared, was always a marvel. Quite likely the example of the Prince had moved some of the men to more humanity. As for Shon and Sydney, they had sauntered off with some others towards town at this time, which also, maybe, contributed to the Indian boy s chance for life.

When the crowd that had formed a knot about him had broken up, and I first got sight of him, he was sitting on a stone with his hands between his naked legs, and blood dripping from his long hair, which fell down in strings over his drooping foreh