48 IN THE OLD WEST 



in warm and well-remembered homespun, he sits 

 on the snake-fence round the old clearing, and, 

 munching his hoe-cake at set of sun, listens to the 

 mournful note of the whip-poor-will, or the harsh 

 cry of the noisy catbird, or watches the agile gam- 

 bols of the squirrels as they chase each other, 

 chattering the while, from branch to branch of 

 the lofty tamarisks, wondering how long it will 

 be before he will be able to lift his father's heavy 

 rifle, and use it against the tempting game. 

 Sleep, however, sat lightly on the eyes of the wary 

 mountaineer, and a snort from thQ old mule in an 

 instant stretched his every nerve. Without a 

 movement of his body, his keen eye fixed itself 

 upon the mule, which now stood with head bent 

 round, and eyes and ears pointed in one direction, 

 snufiing the night air and snorting with apparent 

 fear. A low sound from the wakeful hunter 

 roused the others from their sleep; and raising 

 their bodies from their well-soaked beds, a single 

 word apprised them of their danger. 



"Injuns!" 



Scarcely was the word out of Killbuck's lips, 

 when, above the howling of the furious wind and 

 the pattering of the rain, a hundred savage yells 

 broke suddenly upon their ears from all directions 

 round the camp ; a score of rifle-shots rattled from 

 the thicket, and a cloud of arrows whistled 

 through the air, whilst a crowd of Indians charged 

 upon the picketed animals. " Owgh ! owgh — 



