e English words, that I loosed my grip,
staring breathlessly through the darkness.

"Are you white?" I gasped, so weakened I could scarce articulate.

For a moment he did not answer, but I could hear his breath coming in
gasps and sobs. Then he spoke slowly, his voice hoarse from exertion.

"By the memory of Moses! I was once,--but that squeeze must have
turned me black, I 'm thinkin'. An' ye're no Injun?"

"Not so much as a feather of one," I retorted. "But that is what I
took you to be."

We were both sitting up by this time, he with his back against the
bank, both of us panting as if we could never regain our breath, and
eagerly seeking to see each other's features in the gloom. Any attempt
at conversation was painful, but I managed at last to stammer:

"You must be a whalebone man, or I 'd have broken every rib in your
body."

"An' I 'm not a bit sure ye did n't," was the response, uttered between
puffs. "'T was the worst grip ever Ol' Tom Burns had squeeze him,--an'
I 've felt o' bars mor' nor oncet. Who may ye be, anyhow, stranger?
an' for what cause did ye jump down yere on me?"

There was a trace of growing anger in his tone, as remembrance of the
outrage returned to his mind, which caused me to smile, now that I
could breathe less painfully. It seemed such a ludicrous affair,--that
dark struggle, each mistaking the purpose and color of the other.

"My name is Wayland," I made haste to explain, "and I left the Fort but
now, hoping by this round-about route to reach the Kinzie place and
return under cover of darkness. I slipped on the edge of the bank up
yonder, and the next thing I knew we were at it. I can assure you,
friend, I supposed myself in the arms of a savage. You say your name
is Burns?"

"Ol' Tom Burns."

"What? It is not possible you are the same who brought a message to
Major Wayland on the Maumee?"

"I reckon I am," he said, deliberately. "An' be you the boy I met?"

"Yes," I said, still doubtful. "But how came you here?"

"Wal, here's whar I belong. I've bin a sorter huntin' an' trappin'
yer'bouts fer goin' on nine year or so, an' I built a shanty to live in
up yonder by the forks. I hed n't much more nor got home frum down
east, when the Injuns burnt thet down; an' sence then I ain't bin much
o' nowhar, but I reckon'd I 'd go inter ther Fort to-morrow and git
some grub."

He spoke with a slow, deliberate drawl, as if not much accustomed to
converse; and I pictur