y put an end to the bear's career, and still less
need we remark that profuse and earnest were the thanks bestowed on him
by the whole party.

"We must christen you Sharpeye after this lucky shot," said Kenneth,
when the excitement had subsided. "Now, Sharpeye," he added, taking his
red friend by the arm, "you _must_ stay and sup with us to-night. Come
along, whether you understand me or not, I'll take no denial."

If the Indian did not understand the language of his friends he
evidently understood their pantomime, for he made no further objection
to remain, but accompanied them to the camp, and sat silently smoking at
their fire, which was kindled in front of the tent door, so that the
sick man might enjoy the blaze as well as the companionship.

While thus engaged they were suddenly interrupted by the appearance of
another Indian, who advanced quietly into the circle of light, and sat
down.

"A messenger, no doubt," said McLeod, after the first salutation.

A messenger he indeed proved to be, for after casting a furtive look,
not unmingled with surprise and suspicion, at his brother redskin, he
opened a small bag which hung at his girdle, and delivered to McLeod
senior a very dirty-looking letter.

"Ha! from Gambart," he exclaimed, reading the inscription. "Let us see
what--Hallo! Sharpeye, where are you off to?"

This question was called forth in consequence of the red man rising
quietly and throwing his gun on his shoulder. Instead of replying,
however, he turned abruptly and walked off into the woods.

"The most unaccountable man I ever knew," exclaimed Kenneth. "I
shouldn't wonder if this messenger and he are implacable foes, and can't
bear to sit at the same fire together."

The remark which Kenneth began half in jest, was finished in earnest,
for he had not done speaking when the messenger also arose and glided
into the woods.

"Get the gun ready," said McLeod, unfolding the letter, "there's no
saying what these fellows may do when their blood's up."

Kenneth obeyed, while his father read the letter, which, as the reader
has no doubt guessed was that written by Gambart at his imperious little
wife's command.

"I was _sure_ there must be some satisfactory explanation of the
matter," said Flora, when her father had finished reading.

"So was I," said Kenneth, examining the priming of his gun.

The elder McLeod felt and looked uncomfortable. "What is it all about?"
asked Roderick, from the t