long embrace. Oh!" continued Redfeather, while his brow darkened, and
his black eye flashed with an expression of fierceness that his young
listeners had never seen before, "may the curse--" He paused. "God
forgive them! how could they know better?

"At length the trapper rose hastily. The expression of his brow was
still the same, but his mouth was altered. The lips were pressed
tightly like those of a brave when led to torture, and there was a
fierce activity in his motions as he sprang down the bank and proceeded
to dig a hole in the soft earth. For half an hour he laboured,
shovelling away the earth with a large flat stone; and carrying down the
body, he buried it there, under the shadow of a willow. The trapper
then shouldered his rifle and hurried away. On reaching the turn of the
stream which shuts the little hollow out from view, he halted suddenly,
gave one look into the prairie he was thenceforth to tread alone, one
short glance back, and then, raising both arms in the air, looked up
into the sky, while he stretched himself to his full height. Even at
that distance I could see the wild glare of his eye and the heaving of
his breast. A moment after, and he was gone."

"And did you never see him again?" inquired Harry Somerville eagerly.

"No, I never saw him more. Immediately afterwards I turned to rejoin my
companions, whom I soon overtook, and entered our village along with
them. I was regarded as a poor warrior, because I brought home no
scalps, and ever afterwards I went by the name of _Redfeather_ in our
tribe."

"But are you still thought a poor warrior?" asked Charley, in some
concern, as if he were jealous of the reputation of his new friend.

The Indian smiled. "No," he said: "our village was twice attacked
afterwards, and in defending it Redfeather took many scalps. He was
made a chief!"

"Ah!" cried Charley, "I'm glad of that. And Wabisca, what came of her?
Did Misconna get her?"

"She is my wife," replied Redfeather.

"Your wife! Why, I thought I heard the voyageurs call your wife the
white swan."

"_Wabisca_ is _white_ in the language of the Knisteneux. She is
beautiful in form, and my comrades call her the white swan."

Redfeather said this with an air of gratified pride. He did not,
perhaps, love his wife with more fervour than he would have done had he
remained with his tribe; but Redfeather had associated a great deal with
the traders, and he had imbibed much of t