er; and her hair, like his, hangs loosely down,
reaching almost to the ground! Her neck, throat, and part of her bosom
are nude, and clustered over with bead-strings of various colours.

The expression of her countenance is high and noble. Her eye is
oblique. The lips meet with a double curve, and the throat is full and
rounded. Her complexion is Indian; but a crimson hue, struggling
through the brown upon her cheek, gives that pictured expression to her
countenance which may be observed in the quadroon of the West Indies.

She is a girl, though full-grown and boldly developed: a type of health
and savage beauty.

As she approaches, the men murmur their admiration. There are hearts
beating under hunting-shirts that rarely deign to dream of the charms of
woman.

I am struck at this moment with the appearance of the young trapper
Garey. His face has fallen, the blood has forsaken his cheeks, his lips
are white and compressed, and dark rings have formed round his eyes.
They express anger, but there is still another meaning in them.

Is it jealousy? Yes!

He has stepped behind one of his comrades, as if he did not wish to be
seen. One hand is playing involuntarily with the handle of his knife.
The other grasps the barrel of his gun, as though he would crush it
between his fingers!

The girl comes up. The Indian hands her the gourd, muttering some words
in an unknown tongue--unknown, at least, to me. She takes it without
making any reply, and walks off towards the spot where Rube had stood,
which has been pointed out to her by her companion.

She reaches the tree, and halts in front of it, facing round as the
trapper had done.

There was something so dramatic, so theatrical, in the whole proceeding,
that up to the present time we had all stood waiting for the
_denouement_ in silence. Now we knew what it was to be, and the men
began to talk.

"He's a-goin' to shoot the gourd from the hand of the gal," suggested a
hunter.

"No great shot, after all," added another; and indeed this was the
silent opinion of most on the ground.

"Wagh! it don't beat Garey if he diz hit it," exclaimed a third.

What was our amazement at seeing the girl fling off her plumed bonnet,
place the gourd upon her head, fold her arms over her bosom, and
standing fronting us as calm and immobile as if she had been carved upon
the tree!

There was a murmur in the crowd. The Indian was raising his rifle to
take aim, when a man