“We are not all here,” said Yanatah; “where is Begwa?” “He had a heavy pack,” said a warrior, “and stays behind; he is tired.” “Give the pale face a blanket,” continued the chieftain, “and let her sleep; she wants rest; she must travel to the Prophet's camp.” This was done; but her heart seemed breaking, and death for her had no terrors. From the first moment of her capture until the present, she had been hurried along without time for reflection; and now, at rest, began to doubt whether she was dreaming, or whether her situation was really what it appeared to be; and when consciousness came with its sad reality, she gave vent to her feelings in a flood of tears. Some time elapsed, and yet Begwa had not arrived. His absence occasioned much anxiety, until some one hinted that he had gone off in order to secure to himself the plunder with which he was loaded. There being no other rational way to account for his sudden disappearance, the suggestion was agreed to, and vowing vengeance, they were silent. After a few moments, Yanatah said, “while we sleep, let two warriors keep watch; I fear the pale faces are on our steps; I doubt if Begwa would have left us for the sake of plunder. Begwa was a good warrior.” “Begwa,” replied one of the party, “would not have fallen without a struggle. If the pale faces were on our steps we should have heard them.” “Can you hear an eel,” asked Yanatah, “when it moves through the water? say no more, but let the watch be kept.” Soon after this, they were all reposing by the fire, save the two warriors on duty, who were perfuming the air with kinny kaneek, and inhaling its odour through the handles of their tomahawks, the heads of which were fashioned into pipes. The captive maiden soon sank into a troubled slumber, for although she slept, her frame was often violently agitated, and there were moments, when her limbs quivered as in the agonies of death; with this exception, the Indian camp was quiet. The prairie, as we have before observed, was too naked to allow the hunters to approach nearer to the Indian camp, than the outer edge of the woods; and nothing remained for them, but to rest where they were as mere spectators; for although at some distance, they had it entirely within their view. Having seated themselves with their backs against a tree, whose widely spreading branches kept off the dew, they gathered themselves up and adjusted their garments that they might be as comfortable as possible. “There is as yet no chance to benefit the captive,” said Rolfe. “No,” said Earth, “see! those two devils are wide awake; but let them fall asleep if they dare, and we will not have crossed the river for nothing.” The feelings, like every thing else, require relaxation, and Rolfe and Earthquake forgot in a few minutes the excitement under which they had been labouring. “Earth,” said Rolfe, “the dews are very heavy, I feel a little chilly.”