while
the Indians, with their bows ready drawn to shoot should he reappear,
sprang towards the thick trunks of some neighbouring trees to escape his
fire. They were thus separated from each other, and brought nearer to
where Laurence and his party lay concealed. Peter now made a sign to
his companions, and in a few bounds they were up to the Blackfeet, who,
thus taken unawares, were pinioned and brought to the ground before they
could turn round and shoot their arrows or draw their hatchets from
their belts.

Laurence, leaving his companions to guard their prisoners, who,
expecting instant death, had assumed that stoic indifference of which
Indians boast, hastened to the assistance of his father. He shouted as
he ran, "Father, father, I am coming to you."

The old man, who had sunk on one knee, with rifle ready prepared to
fight to the last, fortunately recognised his voice. "What have become
of the Blackfeet, boy?" were his first words. "I saw the Crees spring
from under cover to attack them. Have they killed the treacherous
vermin?"

"No, father," answered Laurence. "Our friends made them prisoners. We
will spare their lives, and pray God to soften their hearts."

"What is that you say?" asked Michael. "The Crees will surely kill
them, and take their scalps, unless they wish to carry them to their
lodges, that their wives and children may torture them as they deserve.
But I feel faint, Laurence; their arrows have made some ugly wounds in
my flesh; help me to get them out."

Laurence saw with grief that his father was indeed badly hurt; and as he
supported him, he shouted to Peter to come to his assistance. Peter,
having helped to secure their prisoners, soon appeared. The old
trapper, notwithstanding his hardihood, had fainted from pain and loss
of blood. Peter's first care was to extricate the arrows, which, though
they had inflicted severe injuries, had mercifully not reached any vital
part. He and Laurence then, having bound up his wounds, carried him to
his little wigwam, which stood close by. Within it were a large supply
of skins, several traps, and articles for camp use, to obtain which
probably the treacherous Blackfeet had attacked old Michael. In the
meadow hard by his horses were also found. Laurence sat by his side,
supporting his head, and moistening his parched lips. He soon
sufficiently recovered to speak.

"I was about to return, Laurence," he said, "but I wished to bring a
go