As a rule, the _musquaw_ is a perfectly harmless beast if left alone; but, when he turns to bay, he is as ferocious and almost as strong as a grisly. Maddened and almost maimed, the great brute now reared, and so suddenly, that the eldest Indian, who had been aiming a similar blow to his brother's, lost his balance and fell with his head actually touching the beast's back as he rose on his hind feet. But this was only matter for laughing; he was up again in a second, and striking for the back of the bear's head, while his brothers sprang backwards or sidewards with terrier-like activity, dodging his outspread claws and awaiting an opportunity to bring him down with a blow across his snout. Kohl had now reached the scene of the combat, and took up a position whence he could easily cover the enemy with his rifle, which he had just loaded with ball. But the Mohawks wanted no such help as that. "No; don't fire, we would kill fifty like him," screamed André, the second brother; and, as he spoke, his hatchet fell, cleaving the forepart of the great creature's skull. The blade stuck fast, and it was only by letting go of the haft and taking a tremendous backward spring, that he saved himself from the paw that struck out at him almost automatically. The bear was tottering now, and another blow on the back of the head from the Indian behind brought him down, stone-dead. Other redskins, attracted by the shouting, had now left their traps and come up, and to these was given the task of flaying the carcase and bringing home the skin; while the chief's sons, happy as a boy who has killed his first rabbit, went back for their guns. When they reached the village again, they found it _en fête_. On the wide space between the chief's house and the church, all the inhabitants had collected to do honour to the hero and heroine of the day; and, coming out from the house, were the chief, a French priest, and all the womenfolk of the family. "Come along," cried the old man gaily to his youngest son; "we are only waiting for you." Then ensued a quaint mingling of ancient and modern Mohawk custom. Much of the success of Catholic missions probably lies in the fact that the clergy have never opposed those traditions and customs of savages which were in themselves innocent; here was an instance. A girl was about to become engaged to her future husband, and there was no difficulty in grafting on to the Indian ceremony the mediæval religious rite of betrothal. The chief's youngest son, the girl's father, approached the lover, carrying a bow and four arrows. "My brother," he said solemnly; "you have asked to have my daughter for your wife. But, before you can take the bird to your own nest, you must catch her."