414 WILD SPOKTS IN THE SOUTH. 



Sometimes, when one is hunting squirrels, and has 

 made his shot at some determined nut-cracker in a 

 stately hickory, he will see the wounded animal shiver 

 and drop the unopened nut it held in its teeth, then 

 move on a little and lay flat on the limb, then one by 

 one its feet relaxing their hold, until it slips from the 

 cradling bough, still clinging by one paw, and when that 

 loses its grasp, catching at a lower branch with the 

 other, while on the forest leaves, with a slow patter, the 

 red drops fall until the still wrestling animal hurtles 

 from its retreat, crashing through the leaves to the earth 

 beneath, never more to wake the morning with its shrill 

 bark, or shower down the hanging dew beneath its dizzy 

 leap. 



So the Indian on the tower at the crack of the rifle 

 shivered and dropped his hunting -knife from between 

 his teeth, and reluctantly quitted his hold and fell to the 

 earth below. His comrades had already fled to cover, 

 and lying there in the sun he clenched the sand, gave a 

 few convulsive sobs, and lay still forever. 



An hour passed by when Mike saw from his conceal- 

 ment the four Indians that remained crossing the sound 

 in their boats, they had considered it safest to beat their 

 retreat while they knew precisely where their foe was 

 intrenched. They carried their dead with them, save 

 the body of the one lying by Mike on the islet, and 

 fled in the direction they were taking when the light 

 hi the lantern recalled them to complete their 

 revenge. 



