We left William Russell and the Indian maid, Tahattawa, just leaving the wigwam of her father for the rescue of Eliza Webster. They entered a light canoe and glided swiftly down with the current of the river. As they approached the place where the Indians were encamped, the two travellers kept close under the western bank, to be more secure against the observation of any one who might have been stationed as a look-out. By six o’clock they were within a mile of the encampment, and here, by the advice of the girl, Russell moored the canoe, and they struck into the woods. Tahattawa, taking the lead, glided through the dense bushes with surprising facility—so swiftly indeed, that her companion found some difficulty in keeping her in sight, although his heart was continually prompting him to put forth every effort. At length, just as the shades of night began to appear, they caught a glimpse of the council fire. They now proceeded with the utmost caution till they came in sight of the wigwam in which the prisoner was bound. Fortunately, it was placed on that side of the opening which was nearest them, just in the edge of the forest. Tahattawa crept along—keeping the tent between herself and the Indians, till she could look through a small hole in the rear. She now motioned Russell to approach. He did so, and looking through the opening, he saw, sitting, his lost bride, her face buried in her hands. At the door of the tent sat a brawny Indian, who, confident of the security of his prisoner, was gazing towards the fire and quietly smoking his pipe. Tahattawa quickly drew William’s knife from his belt, and, without the least noise, cut a large piece from the thin bark-covering of the hut; then placing the knife in Russell’s hand, she directed him by signs, to enter, and despatch the savage. As he was passing Eliza, she raised her head, and would have screamed, had not Tahattawa been already at her side, and covered her mouth with her hand. At that moment the Indian turned his head; he grasped his tomahawk, but before he could give a blow the hot blood spurted from his heart, and he fell back and died without a groan. The fugitives now began, as rapidly as possible, to retrace their steps towards the canoe, which had been left concealed about a mile up the river. Their progress, however, was slow, and the underwood was very thick, and all three of the party were already wearied with the toils of the day. Still they struggled on, and, at length, succeeded in reaching the spot where the canoe had been left, before the hideous yell that came sweeping up the river warned them but too surely that the escape of the prisoner, and the death of the Indian in the wigwam, had been discovered.