again, to ruminate upon the story he should tell to the pressing inquiries of his friends, and, in a few minutes, he had prepared everything to his satisfaction.  Five minutes later he heard a dull thumping upon the ground, and the next minute the lodge was filled with Shawnees.  Sharp yells—­the signals of alarm—­could be heard in every quarter, even as far distant as the river.  All seemed centering toward one spot.  In answer to repeated shoutings, and kicks, and twitches of the hair, Hans opened his big, blue eyes, and stared around him with an innocent, wondering look.

“Where’s the girl?  Where’s the pale-faced captive?” demanded several, including his wife.

“Ober dere; (pointing to her usual resting-place; and then, discovering her absence) no, dunder and blixen, she isn’t.”

“You helped her away in the night.  We saw you when the moon was up standing in the lodge.”  His accuser was the Indian who had peered into the lodge the night before.

“Mine Gott! dat Huron, Oonomoo, has got her!” The name of the famous scout was familiar to all, and called forth a general howl of fury.  Understanding that it was expected he should give some explanation, he said:  “I see’d de Injin last night, and he gived me something dat he said I musht eat and mix wid my fish.  I done so, and it made me, and Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock, and Quanonshet and Madokawandock go to shleep, and shust now we wakes up and de gal ain’t here!”

This brief, concise statement was generally believed, all knowing the trustful, verdant nature of the Dutchman, and there was a general clearing of the wigwam, for the purpose of ascertaining which direction the Huron had taken; but they met with no success, as the woods were so thoroughly trodden by numerous feet, that it was impossible to distinguish any particular trail.  One or two Shawnees, however, were not satisfied with what Hans had said, and, after making several more inquiries, they remarked: 

“Oonomoo, the Huron, is a brave Indian, but could not enter the Shawnee lodges unless the door was opened from within.  Our white brother——­”

Hans’ wife sprung up like a catamount, whose young were attacked.  “You say my brave Hans let her go, eh?  My brave warriors, I will show you,” she exclaimed, springing at them in such a perfect fury that they tore out of the wigwam and were seen no more.

“My dear Hans.”

“My dear, good Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock! de same shape all de way down.”

And the loving wife and husband embraced with all the fervor of youthful lovers.  And locked thus together, trusting, contented and happy, we take our final leave of them.

CHAPTER IX.

A NEW DANGER.

      Tis too late
  To crush the hordes who have the power and will
  To rob thee of thy hunting-grounds and fountains,
  And drive thee backward to the Rocky Mountains.—­EDWARD SANFORD.