“I am pleased to hear you say so, my son; you should not fear, for although they tell so many bloody tales of them, I think we shall have no cause to add another to the number. We have now floated a long distance, been upon the water more than twenty days and nights, and yet no mishap has befallen us; a few days more, and, God willing, we shall reach our place of destination.” “I wish it were so, father; I have no fears, yet my heart has some strange misgivings. Gay dreamed last night, we were taken captive by the Indians. I have no faith in dreams, and I know not why it is, but I feel sad and gloomy.” “Hugh, this is not a time to indulge in superstitious fears, when we are about to form a frontier settlement. Such things must be abandoned, or you will become a laughing stock for your companions; moreover, your sister must cease to tell her dreams, since they unman her brother.” At this speech, Hugh's countenance slightly coloured with indignation, but it quickly passed away, and he said: “Father, I feel your reproaches, yet I have not the spirit to answer them; for a presentiment of danger has come over me, and though vague and indefinite, I feel that there is no opposing it; indistinct and gloomy visions flit across my mind, conveying no definite idea. To ensure our safety, I would this hour willingly meet Tecumseh, single handed, terrible as he is.” At the name of Tecumseh a shade passed over the face of Mr. Foreman, while he recollected the many daring outrages which were said to have been committed by him; but, quickly dispelling it, he said, “Come, come, my son, let us drop this subject; it is idle to anticipate dangers; bad enough to meet them when they come.” “Then let it be so. But I wish we had not ventured so far down, it has now been nearly a week, and we have seen no living soul. Father, do not the woods seem to you darker than usual? the hills rise higher here than we have yet seen them; I never saw a scene so wild and lonely—father, father, did you not see a light moving?” “Where, where, my son?” “On the top of that lofty bluff to our right. There, there, I see it again.” This annunciation acted like magic upon Mr. Foreman, who grasped his rifle, and nerving himself to meet whatever danger might present itself, gazed long and searchingly at the place pointed out. Still nothing was visible—the banks wore a dark and gloomy aspect, yet they were as quiet as the unrippled surface on which they were floating—no sign indicated the presence of a human being, no signal told that the wild woods were tenanted. Observing this, he drew a long breath or two, relieving himself from the high state of excitement under which he had been labouring, then turning to his son, said, “Hugh, you must have been mistaken.” “I see nothing now, father,” was the reply, “but I thought I saw a light glimmer on those cliffs for a moment and then disappear.”