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At dusk I dismounted at the Indian camp, more dead than alive, and turned the horse out on the luxuriant grass of the narrow valley ; for here the trail ended, and I could use him no further.

I did not like the look of things here altogether. The Indians mixed too much with the whites. They were neither one thing nor the other. I was com pelled to spend the night here, however, but deter mined to go on over the high mountain the following day, on foot, to Hubet Klabul, or u Place of Yellow Jackets," where I knew more noble Indians than these would receive me.

I rose in great pain next morning, and went down to the brook to bathe my head. While leaning over the water, my pistol slid from the scabbard into the stream, and was made useless till it could be taken to pieces and cleaned. I went back, laid down, and was waiting for an Indian woman to prepare me some breakfast, when I saw two suspicious-looking, half-tame Indians coming down the hill ; then three suspicious-looking white men, with the muzzles of their rifles levelled at my head, and I was a prisoner.

My faithful Indian companion of the night before had almost cost me my life by his kindness. We had taken the saddle-horse of an honest settler, then a judge of the Court of Sessions. Some strange hand had led me by his very door the day before, and I had been followed in my slow and painful flight.

They took my arms, tied me, and