Did the Indians make that black spot on your breast? asked Tom. I don’t know, replied Drake. It has always been there. The Indians called it big canoe. Look, Tom, and see what it looks like, said Drake, at the same time baring his bosom. Why Drake, that is an anchor! said Tom; and sure enough, there is a big canoe; yes, and there are letters on it, like the ones in mother’s old bible. There is C. D. on the top, and E. N. on the bottom. That wan’t made by the Indians, Drake, maybe your father put that there. It don’t look like Indian work; they paint themselves, but that rubs off, but this don’t rub off. Water won’t wash it out. No, replied Drake, the more I wash it, the plainer it gets. It seems to be under the skin. What did they call you when you were among the Indians? asked Tom. “Swift Foot,” replied Drake. And why did father name you Drake, when he brought you to our house? He said that, or something like that was my name; that it was painted on my breast. I see, replied Tom. “C. D.,” that means Charles Drake. The sun was now down. The wind whistled and the rain fell in torrents. The hawks had hid themselves within the caverns of the rocks. The beasts of prey had sought refuge from the storm, and the boys concluded to remain under the rock until morning. Thus, they slept in unconscious bliss, when suddenly they were aroused by an unearthly noise that pierced them to their hearts. Such shrieks were calculated to arouse the slumbering dead. Tom caught his rifle, and Drake his bow and arrows. The storm had cleared; the rain had ceased, and the sun was just rising over the Shawangunk Mountains. The shrieks continued. What does this mean? cried Drake, are the Indians upon us? and is this their war-whoop? No, replied Tom, it is the hawks. They are out in full force. I should think so, replied Drake. They are so thick that they darken the sun. See them dive down. They think that they see the carcass of a deer in the river, and want to pick its bones for breakfast, but something scares them back. Tom, by this time, was at the top of the pinnacle where he could see miles up and down the river. The banks were full and the whole river was strewn with logs, trees and drift-wood. The hawks continued to dive down towards the water, then suddenly rising and screaming. I see! I see! cried Tom. See there, Drake; there is a raft just going through the Cellar Hole! Yes, by Jove! there it goes, and there is something on it! That is so, rejoined Drake. It is a bear. Yes, it is a bear, but what is that it is standing over? It is a woman. I see her dress. It must be a tame bear, rejoined Drake. See it lick the woman’s hand. Stop! said Tom, I see two women there, a big and little one, and the little one lays across the big one. There is something else there—a cat or rabbit; yes, and the bear is a dog.