und him, as I spoke, and set him free.

Without a word, though with an irresistible look of surprise, the savage
turned, picked up his weapons and strode majestically into the bush.

"My brother is not wise," remarked Big Otter.

"That may be so," said I, "but it grieves me that the blood of one
Indian has been shed on my account, and I don't want to let the
authorities here have the chance of shedding that of another. Come, we
must let them know what has happened."

So saying I turned and rode off. We went direct to the authorities
above-mentioned, told who we were and what we had done, guided a party
of men to the scene of the intended murder; and then, while the stars
were beginning to twinkle in the darkening sky, returned to see what was
going on in the little cottage on the hill at Sunny Creek.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

ONE OF THE DIFFICULTIES OF CORRESPONDENCE ENLARGED ON--COMING EVENTS,
ETCETERA.

About six weeks after the events narrated in the last chapter, I seated
myself before a desk in a charming attic-room in the cottage--no need to
say what cottage--and began to pen a letter.

I was in an exceedingly happy frame of mind. The weather was agreeable;
neither too hot nor too cold; circumstances around me were conducive to
quiet contemplation, and my brain was quite clear, nevertheless I
experienced unusual difficulty in the composition of that letter. I
began it at least half-a-dozen times, and as many times threw my pen
down, tore it up and began another. At last I received a summons to
dinner, and had then got only half-way through my letter.

Our dinner-party consisted of old Mrs Liston, her comely niece, Mrs
Temple, who by the way was a widow, Eve Liston, and myself. Big Otter,
unable to endure the restraints of civilisation, had gone on a hunting
expedition for a few days, by way of relief!

"You is very stupid, surely, to take three hours to write one letter,"
remarked Eve, with that peculiar smile to which I have before referred.

"Eve," said I, somewhat sternly, "you will never learn English properly
if you do not attend to my instructions. _You_ is plural, though _I_ am
singular, and if you address me thus you must say you _are_ not you
_is_."

"You _are_ right in saying you are singular," interposed Aunt Temple,
who was rather sharp witted, and had intensely black eyes. Eve had
called her "aunt" by mistake at first, and now stuck to it.

"I don't think there is another man in