having once been, as
he supposed, a corn-field,

"It is only a tomahawk-improvement," said Telie Doe, shaking her head, as
he turned towards her a look of joyous inquiry; and she pointed towards
what seemed to have been once a cabin of logs of the smallest size--too
small indeed for habitation--but which, more than half fallen down, was
rotting away, half hidden under the weeds and brambles that grew, and
seemed to have grown for years, within its little area; "there are many
of them in the woods, that were never settled."

Roland did not require to be informed that a "tomahawk-improvement,"
as it was often called in those days, meant nothing more than the box of
logs in form of a cabin, which the hunter or land-speculator could build
with his hatchet in a few hours, a few girdled trees, a dozen or more
grains of corn from his pouch-thrust into the soil, with perhaps a few
poles laid along the earth to indicate an enclosed field; and that such
improvements, as they gave pre-emption rights to the maker, were often
established by adventurers, to secure a claim in the event of their not
lighting on lands more to their liking. Years had evidently passed by
since the maker of this neglected improvement had visited his territory,
and Roland no longer hoped to discover such signs about it as might
enable him to recover his lost way. His spirits sunk as rapidly as they
had risen, and he was preparing to make one more effort to escape from
the forest, while the daylight yet lasted, or to find some stronghold in
which to pass the night; when his attention was drawn to Telie Doe, who
had ridden a little in advance, eagerly scanning the trees and soil
around, in the hope that some ancient mark or footstep might point out a
mode of escape. As she thus looked about her, moving slowly in advance,
her pony on a sudden began to snort and prance, and betray other
indications of terror, and Telie herself was seen to become agitated and
alarmed, retreating back upon the party, but keeping her eyes wildly
rolling from bush to bush, as if in instant expectation of seeing an
enemy.

"What is the matter?" cried Roland, riding to her assistance. "Are we in
enchanted land, that our horses must be frightened, as well as
ourselves?"

"He smells the war-paint," said Telie, with a trembling voice;--"there
are Indians near us."

"Nonsense!" said Roland, looking around, and seeing, with the exception
of the copse just passed, nothing but an ope