he Mustang Valley, and Major Hope resolved to celebrate it
by an impromptu festival at the old block-house; for many hearts in
the valley had been made glad that day, and he knew full well that,
under such circumstances, some safety-valve must be devised for the
escape of overflowing excitement.

A messenger was sent round to invite the population to assemble
without delay in front of the block-house. With backwoods-like
celerity the summons was obeyed; men, women, and children hurried
towards the central point, wondering, yet more than half suspecting,
what was the major's object in calling them together.

They were not long in doubt. The first sight that presented itself,
as they came trooping up the slope in front of the log-hut, was an
ox roasting whole before a gigantic bonfire. Tables were being
extemporized on the broad level plot in front of the gate. Other fires
there were, of smaller dimensions, on which sundry steaming pots were
placed, and various joints of wild horse, bear, and venison roasted,
and sent forth a savoury odour as well as a pleasant hissing noise.
The inhabitants of the block-house were self-taught brewers, and the
result of their recent labours now stood displayed in a row of goodly
casks of beer--the only beverage with which the dwellers in these
far-off regions were wont to regale themselves.

The whole scene, as the cooks moved actively about upon the lawn, and
children romped round the fires, and settlers came flocking through
the forests, might have recalled the revelry of merry England in the
olden time, though the costumes of the far west were perhaps somewhat
different from those of old England.

No one of all the band assembled there on that day of rejoicing
required to ask what it was all about. Had any one been in doubt for a
moment, a glance at the centre of the crowd assembled round the gate
of the western fortress would have quickly enlightened him. For there
stood Dick Varley, and his mild-looking mother, and his loving dog
Crusoe. There, too, stood Joe Blunt, like a bronzed warrior returned
from the fight, turning from one to another as question poured in upon
question almost too rapidly to permit of a reply. There, too, stood
Henri, making enthusiastic speeches to whoever chose to listen to
him--now glaring at the crowd with clenched fists and growling voice,
as he told of how Joe and he had been tied hand and foot, and lashed
to poles, and buried in leaves, and threatene