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nights Ogden paced the fort and listened; he dared not sleep. Then came the Spaldings, escorted by their Nez Perec's from Lapwai. Ogden paid their ransom and hurried them into the ready boats.

It was the morning of New Year's Day of 1848.

"The wind is cold; cover, cover," said old Sticcas, taking off his cap for one of the rescued ones. "Cover ears," he said, compassionately tying his handkerchief over the head of another.

"How fiercely yon Indian rides! "exclaimed Spalding, as the boats shoved off with their shivering passengers.

A howling horseman came into sight, lashing his pony, white with foam, with the cruel doublethonged whip tied to his wrist. Another came, and another, fifty infuriated Cayuses dashed down to the water and followed along the river's edge with angry shouts. They had caught the rumor, "The Bostons are coming." The trader and his ransomed had but escaped.

Ogden prudently kept his boats on the farther side, and his Canadians rowed for life. It was an exciting moment.

"Sing," cried Ogden, in tense agitation.

The Canadians struck up the spirited

"Sur la feuille ron don don don" to steady their strokes as they shot away.

Outwitted, sold, the wrathful Indians jerked up their steeds by the cruel horsehair bits. Blood dripped with the foam. The usual Indian adieu is a gay yell. This was a taunting, scornful, satanic laugh, as they waved their tomahawks and watched them, singing, glide beyond their grasp. Then they turned to the lodge of Pio-pio-mox-mox and threatened his life, because