But _what_ was above? It could not be a person, as I had been buried by them. It must be some famished animal hastening to devour me. Yet this would be a relief, to gain one more draught of the sweet, cool air of heaven before death. Now I heard the murmur of _voices_! I shouted--there was a pause and stillness; then the efforts were renewed with greater vigor. I shouted again. I could feel the jarring tremble of the loose earth above. Some one was endeavoring to rescue me from my awful fate, thank God! A moment after, and the cool air brushed my face; a strong hand seized my arm, and--Oh, joy inexpressible! I was on the earth again. For a moment I was bewildered and dizzy, and my pulse fluttered wildly, for I had been very, very nigh death. I was recalled to full consciousness by the familiar voice of Jim. “Got in a tight fix, Bill. Ole Jim jus’ in time.” I took the savage’s hand without a word, and, sinking upon my knees, sent up a deep, heartfelt prayer to the Merciful Being who had thus snatched me from the most appalling death. There was a bright moon shining, and, as I turned, I saw the dark Indian’s eyes fixed wonderingly upon me. “Jim,” said I, solemnly, “may the God who has put it into your heart, reward you for this act. I _never, never_ can.” “Jim didn’t do it,” he quickly interrupted. “_She_ did!” and, disengaging his grasp, he darted out of sight I turned and looked behind me. There, standing motionless as a statue, her slight form wrapped in a thick mantle, her sweet, white face appearing like a spirit’s, stood the fair, mysterious captive.[3] [3] In the northwestern part of Oregon is a tribe of Indians called Chenooks, who bury their sick, as soon as the Medicine Man pronounces them beyond recovery. This horrid practice is not confined to them alone, for other tribes in the northwest have been known to inflict it upon their captives. For a moment, I was disposed to believe it was a spirit before me, so still and motionless she remained. Suddenly she turned to depart. “Hold!” exclaimed I, springing forward and seizing her arm; “hold one moment, till I thank thee.” “Thank the Great One above,” she replied, in a low, sweet voice. “He it is who has preserved your life.” As she uttered these words, she turned her dark eyes upward, and the moonlight streaming down upon her face, threw a vail like the halo of glory around it. Then looking me calmly in the face, she added: “You have escaped an awful death, it is true; and you are not the only one who has thus risen from the grave. When delirious, you spoke of home and of friends there, and I know your presence is prayed for. The chance of reaching them is now placed within your reach. A horse is saddled and bridled, and awaiting you, but a short distance away. Jim will furnish you with a rifle. You know the direction to take, and let me urge you to flee.” Again she turned to go, but I restrained her.