Two young men who had been attached to an exploring party, out West, but had unwisely strayed away from their companions, were leisurely riding along the prairie, trying to track the footsteps of their friends, when they saw on the brow of a hill in their rear about a dozen Indian warriors, who were rapidly approaching them. There was not a moment to lose. The white men were unarmed, save for their hunting-knives, while the lances of the red men gleamed in the light of the afternoon sun. Putting spurs to their horses the two young men tried to escape by flight, but the derisive cries of the enemy showed that the distance was rapidly lessening between them. Nothing could have saved them had it not been that, just at the most critical moment, they reached a "windrow," a strip of ground upon which a storm had hurled down the trunks of trees in wild confusion. Hastily abandoning their horses to their fate, the two friends got in among the thick fallen timber, where they concealed themselves, and listened breathlessly while the Indians with shouts pursued, and attempted to capture the coveted animals. But they did not succeed. A cloud of dust heralded the approach of a party of men, who with shouts and cries galloped into the midst of them. It was the exploring party, whose opportune appearance saved their companions' lives. [Illustration: PURSUED BY NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS.] THE TRUANT'S SOLILOQUY My schoolmates all are blessed to-day, Their lessons conning o'er; O, how I wish that I were now Within that school-room door! My teacher sits beside her desk, With a smile upon her face, Until she looks around the room, And sees my vacant place. My heart is aching while I walk Along the mountain glade; I love the trees, the rippling stream, But sigh that I have strayed. O, there's no joy in the hours of play, If snatched from the study-time; No music in the wild-bird's song, While I hear the school-bell chime. O, then, I'll seek my school again, My teacher's rules obey, Nor wander, as a truant boy, And waste another day. [Illustration: "ALONG THE MOUNTAIN GLADE"] A QUEER FISH. Little May's father is a fisherman. One day he brought home the funniest fish May ever saw. She was a little bit frightened and didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Her papa took her up in his lap, put an arm around her waist and held her fast with one hand while he kept a tight hold on the fish with the other. "See, May," he said, "what a queer fish this is. Would you think it followed the same kind of business that papa does for a living?" "Oh, papa!" said May; "that horrid thing a fisherman?--surely you are joking."