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The Indian boys, my companions, had escaped with the ponies into the wood, and I stole up the edge of the forest till I struck their trail, and following on a little way, weak and bewildered, I met them stealing back on foot to my assistance.

My mind and energy both now seemed to give way. We reached the Indian camp somehow, but I have but a vague and shadowy recollection of what passed during the next few weeks. For the most part, as far as I remember, I sat by the lodges or under the trees, or rode a little, but never summoned spirit or energy to return to the fatal camp.

I asked the Indians to go down and see what had become of the two bodies, but they would not think of it. This was quite natural, since they will not revisit their own camp after being driven from it by .an enemy, until it is first visited by their priest or medicine man, who chaunts the death-song and appeases the angered spirit that has brought the calamity upon them. The Indian camp was a small one, and made up mostly of women and chil dren. It was in a vine-maple thicket, on the bend of a small stream called by the Indians Ki-yi-mem, or white water. By the whites I think it is now called Milk Creek. A singular stream it is; sometimes it flows very full, and then is nearly dry; sometimes it is almost white with ashes and fine sand, and then it is perfectly clear with a beautiful white sand border and bottom. The Indians say, that it is also some times so hot as to burn the hand, and then again is as