By the bones of our fathers, We swear to this oath; And die at the stake, Let him who recants. _Chorus_—Then pass round the scalps, And loud let us yell The cry which will tell our friends We are avenged.” While this was acting, Rolfe and Earthquake had remained passive spectators, yet so vivid was the scene, that they had already become perfectly acquainted with the extent of the massacre, for the wild dance, the bleeding scalps, and even the condition of Gay Foreman were but too visible. Still pinioned, and gagged, and bruised by being dragged up the rocks, with her hair dishevelled, and eyes streaming with scalding tears, she lay spectatress of the scene before her, unable to speak or move. Is there a human bosom callous to the appeals of pity? Yes, even in civilized life we meet them every day, then do not wonder that Gay Foreman, though a child whose every thought was innocence, and whose beauty was as variable, yet striking, as the ever changing hues of our own summer sunsets, should in the breasts of the savages, have awakened no feelings of compassion. Her agony was so intense, that she was nearly insensible, and it seemed that her sufferings were about to be ended, for one of the Indians, tall, thin, and of gaunt visage, excited above his companions, stepped from the ring and tangled his fingers in her long dark hair. She shuddered, and looked imploringly in his face. At this sight, Rolfe forgetting himself, distance, and every thing else, threw up his rifle, cocked it, and was in the act of firing, when Earthquake rudely caught his arm, crying, “hold, are you mad?” The fiend now shone in the face of the savage, the tomahawk was raised, but, ere it fell, another warrior rushed to her rescue, and Gay was preserved, whether for a better or worse fate, will be learned in the sequel. Having witnessed the escape of the captive from immediate death, Earth observed, “now, Rolfe, had you fired, your ball would never have reached those cliffs, and its report would have been a signal for their flight, and her certain destruction.” “But, my dear Earth,” said Rolfe, “how could I look on unmoved.” “My good fellow, the best intentions often produce the worst effects, when acted upon in the heat of zeal. Remember, keep cool if you can, and let your judgment act in the hour of danger.” He then pressed his head with his hands, as if suffering under intensity of thought, and continued “it is not an entirely hopeless case; we must go in pursuit of them; so fair and young a creature must not writhe at the stake.” “With all my heart,” said Rolfe, “let us go; quick, how?”