Noiselessly as a shadow, he stepped out, hoping to escape the attention of his canine guards; but in a moment, every cur was on his feet and were about to make the welkin ring, when he threw at the leader the contents of his vial.  Instantly, all fawned at his feet, and he hastened to his rendezvous.

Not a sound was heard save an occasional snore from some sleeper, and soon he found his faithful sweetheart in the shadow of the century-old cypress.  She quickly slung his rifle across his back, fastened about him the revolver and bowie-knife, bound over her own shoulder a bag of provisions; “follow me,” she whispered, and away they sped into the vast primeval forest.

For hours they hastened in silence, then the maiden halted at the edge of a dark morass, and whispered:  “Here we leave the earth; I know the way,” and they launched themselves into the limbs of the trees, clambered hand over hand for a long, long time; when well-nigh exhausted, they dropped down into a little brook, carefully avoiding any contact with the tell-tale earth.

“Quick,” said Sunbeam; “we must hasten up this stream which will conceal our footsteps, to the great river, where we can hide and rest in a great hollow tree which I found there,” and on they went with their feeble remnant of strength.

At last, just as the rising sun was dispersing the vapors of night, our elopers swung themselves from the brook into the branches of an overarching hollow tree, helped each other to the bottom of this house not made with hands, and soon slept the slumber of utter exhaustion.  It was many hours before tired nature’s sweet restorer released these two loving children from its embraces, and then it seemed as if all the fiends from heaven that fell had pealed the banner-cry of hell.

The howls of dogs, and the savage war-whoops announced that their enemies were upon them; but undismayed by the terrible dangers, they resolved to die together rather than endure separation.

“My father never loved me,” whispered Sunbeam, “because I am a girl, while he hoped for a warrior child; if they find us, kill me; I cannot live without you.”

“We will go to the Great Spirit together, beloved,” was the calm reply.

Soon they heard the voice of Tiger-tail close to them, talking to his braves.  “They no cross river,” he said; “all canoes here, dogs no get scent, all back to swamp, we find um there, you, War-Eagle, watch canoes.”  Again the air resounds with the yells of dogs and warriors, then all was silent.

“War-Eagle hate me,” whispered the maiden, “cos I no be his squaw; but we must go before they return.”  Slowly the lovers pulled themselves upward by the ingrown stumps of limbs, and, concealed in the thick branches, looked around; no one was in sight except the Indian left to guard the canoes, and he was reclining on the bank of the river, evidently exhausted.

Noiselessly they lowered themselves to the ground and approached the recumbent brave, when a loud snore showed that their enemy was in the land of nod.  “Take my revolver,” said Henry, “and shoot—­if we must,” then, making a slip-noose of the stout thongs which had bound the provision bag, he deftly slipped it around the arms of the Indian, and with a quick jerk he was firmly bound.