b-nailed walking-shoe caught the savage squarely under the chin; he
was lifted from the ground, and, falling on his back, lay as one who is
dead.

The remaining savages made as though to take instant vengeance for this
deadly insult and, as they imagined, murder of their leader, but their
impulse was checked by a stern command from behind. Glancing in that
direction, they saw themselves covered by a long, brown rifle-barrel,
held by a white man clad in the leathern costume of the backwoods. At
the same time half a dozen laborers who, home-returning from the
fields, had noticed that something unusual was taking place, came
hurrying to the scene of disturbance. Wisely concluding that under
these circumstances discretion was the better part of valor, the
Senecas picked up their helpless comrade and, retreating as rapidly as
their burden would permit, disappeared amid the darkening shadows of
the forest.

The tableau presented at this moment by those who remained was that of
the tall major standing above the prostrate form of the escaped
captive, holding his laughing child in one arm while his trembling wife
clung to the other. Close beside them knelt the terror-stricken maid,
with her face buried in her hands, and a few paces in the rear were
grouped the laborers, armed with various implements of toil. In the
foreground, Truman Flagg, the hunter, white by birth, Indian by
association and education, leaned on his rifle and gazed silently after
the disappearing savages. As they vanished in the forest, he remarked
quietly:--

"'Twas handsomely done, major, and that scoundrel Mahng deserved all he
got. But ef he's as dead as he looks, I'm fearful that kick may get
you into trouble with the tribe, though he's not a Seneca by blood, nor
overly popular at that."

"You know him, then?" queried the major.

"Not edzackly what you might call know him; but I know something of
him."

"Very well; come up to the house and tell me what you know, while we
consider this business. Some of you men carry this poor fellow to the
tool-house, where we will see what can be done for him. Now, my dear,
the evening meal awaits us, and I for one shall partake of it with a
keener relish that this unfortunate affair has terminated so happily."

"I pray God, Graham, that it may be terminated," replied Mrs. Hester,
fervently, as she took the child from its father's arms and strained
him to her bosom.

The whole of this dramatic scene h