o waylay and capture him; a prisoner
being a more coveted prize than a scalp, since, while yet alive, he
could be both scalped and roasted. But he resisted so desperately,
dealing about their heads such ugly blows with the butt of his rifle, as
quickly to convince them that he was not to be taken alive; and aware
that the rest of their pursuers should soon be upon them, and
exasperated by the bruises he had given them, they shot him down on the
spot--nor turned to renew their flight till they had scalped him, though
still alive and conscious. The Red dastards were yet in sight when the
other hunters gained the spot, where they found their leader wounded and
dying. With a commanding gesture, he sternly bid them forward, nor mar
the chase for him, who had but a few moments to live. Fortunately, it so
chanced that on the present occasion Big Black Burl was with the White
hunters; therefore they left him to minister to his dying master, and
again pushed on in hotter, fiercer pursuit.

For many a weary mile of bush-entangled forest and grass-entangled
glade, of rocky dell and precipitous hill, the chase for life and death
went on--nor ceased till it had brought pursued and pursuer to the
banks of the broad Ohio. Here they who had dared to be the hindermost
found themselves reduced to desperate straits, whether to fight or
swim--their comrades, unmindful of them, having pushed off in all the
canoes, and being by this time far out upon the river. Needing but a
glance to tell them where their chances lay, with a loud yell of
defiance, they leaped from the high bank into the deep stream and swam
for dear life. The instant after, the rifles of the White hunters rang
out from among the trees along the shore: there was a stain of blood
upon the water, and the next moment they who but now had stemmed the
current with desperate sinews floated lifeless with it--all who dared to
be the hindermost.

Meanwhile, the faithful Burl had borne his wounded master to the banks
of a forest brook which ran hard by, and had set him down, reclined
against the trunk of a tree. Then he took his powder-horn, having
emptied its contents into his ammunition-pouch, and filling it from the
stream, gave his master to drink--the clear, cool, sparkling water, so
refreshing to the tired and thirsty, but to the wounded man sweet and
grateful beyond expression. When he had drained the flask and revived a
little, that hapless hunter thus addressed his slave: "B