mass of Sioux warriors charging down the hill-side, lashing
their ponies, firing and yelling as they went.

[Illustration: CUT OFF.--DRAWN BY W. M. CARY.]

Alone, and cut off from his companions, with his wife and baby to
protect, Jean Bedell had nothing to do but lie down, with his trusty
rifle in hand, powder and bullets by his side, and wait, determined to
sell his life as dearly as possible if worst came to worst.

For hours the hunter watched the fight, while his wife crouched in the
bottom of the cart, with her baby in her arms. He could see that the
carts had been formed in a semicircle, and from behind them his comrades
withstood charge after charge of the Indians, who would dash up to the
barrier of heavy carts, pour in a volley, and sweep away beyond rifle
range, until their own guns were reloaded.

At last, late in the afternoon, the battle came to an end. The Indians,
finding it impossible to drive the hunters from behind their barrier,
suddenly withdrew, and taking their dead with them, disappeared over the
hill down which they had dashed in the morning. They might make another
attack, but for the present all was safe, and Jean Bedell might rejoin
his friends. When he reached them, he found that though they were
rejoiced to have driven off the hated Sioux, their joy was mingled with
much sorrow, for there were many dead to be buried, and many wounded to
be cared for. Among the dead were several of the little children, to
whom stray bullets had found their way; and when Jean Bedell and his
wife saw the poor little bodies, they were very thankful that, on
account of a broken harness, their own darling baby had been kept at a
safe distance from the terrible battle.

[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 24, April 13.]

THE STORY OF GEORGE WASHINGTON.

BY EDWARD CARY.

CHAPTER VIII.

I have said that the work which President Washington had to do was quite
new to the country. The people had been used to having all their affairs
attended to in their own States. None of the States was very large. Some
of them were very small, compared with what the States are now, so that
the public men in each were known by a greater part of the people than
they now are. Then distance seemed greater than it does now. It took
nearly as long to go from Boston to New York as it now does to go from
Boston to California; there was no telegraph any more than there were
railways and steam-boats, and news travelled as slo