boy. Slowly then rose the victor to his
feet, and like a black Colossus, standing astride his prostrate foe,
remained for many moments profoundly silent, as if lost in thought, and
uncertain, under circumstances so unexpected and peculiar, what course
he should pursue.

Never, since that unhappy night two years ago, had he lifted his hand
against an Indian; but that remembrance of his master's cruel death,
with the wail of the widowed mother and her fatherless child, had risen
before him, making his aim the surer, his blow the heavier. But here was
a new experience, calling for a new course of action. True was it that
his old master had been inhumanly treated by this people, but no less
true that the life of his young master had been preserved, in a signal
manner, too, by one of the same hated race. If he had owed vengeance for
the first, did he not now owe gratitude for the last? If, up to this
moment, he had been swift to meet the claims of vengeance, should he not
now be as ready to meet the claims of gratitude? The lion of him was
fast going to sleep within him; the Newfoundland of him was fast
becoming awake. And looking down at the young brave between his feet,
Burl attentively scanned him.

On hearing the voice of entreaty at his side, the young Indian had
turned his eyes from the face of our big black hero, and perceiving by
the boy's looks, tones, and gestures that an appeal was making in his
behalf, had fixed them earnestly on the face of our little white hero,
as if willing to look there for mercy, though disdaining to ask it of
the giant victor under whose grasp he lay. Now that he had taken a good
long look at him, Burl could not help being in some sort struck with the
wild and singular beauty of the young brave's whole appearance. Then
came back to his remembrance the pitying, good-humored smile, with which
the little captive had been regarded, as they had sat so sociably
chatting together on the log. Here the lion went fast asleep, and the
Newfoundland grew broad awake. Scratching his back with the knuckle of
his thumb, as was his habit in moments of perplexity, he at length
turned to his little master and broke the painful silence thus:

"An' is my little man shore de red varmint was good to him, an' toted
him on his back?"

"Yes, indeed, that I am!" replied the boy with glad eagerness, now that
he saw the light of mercy beginning to shine in the victor's eye. "And
if you don't let him up, I'll bell