Tom’s habit of hiding guns in hollow trees in the woods on one occasion saved his life. Two Indians had captured him near Grass Brook and were taking him off. He seemed perfectly resigned to his fate which appeared unavoidable, and marched with them unreluctantly. His arms were pinioned with deer shins thongs, and his captors kept upon him a vigilant eye, and were ready at any moment to shoot him if he attempted to break away from them. After a while they were visited by a shower of rain, and Tom found that the thongs which bound his wrists began to stretch, and that they had become so loose that he could at any time free his hands. He was very careful to conceal this fact from the savages, and patiently waited for a favorable time to run or do something else to escape. Beside the path that they were pursuing there was a very large chestnut tree which was hollow, and on the side of the trunk that was the farthest from the path, the wood had entirely rotted away leaving a large hollow space. In the opening thus made, Tom had long before concealed several guns which he had found beside dead Indians. He had also deposited with them a flask of powder and a goodly store of bullets. When they had reached this tree, Tom expressed an urgent desire to go to it, and gave such a good reason for the request he made, that his captors consented to let him go. They permitted him to do so the more readily because he had thus far given them but little trouble. The Indians cocked their rifles when Tom stepped from the path and aimed them at him, each with his finger on the trigger, and watching him eagerly, determined to bring him down if he made the least movement to escape. Tom proceeded toward the tree very leisurely, and on reaching it, went behind it and was concealed from the view of his enemies. Within the most inconceivable time he charged three of his weapons with powder and lead. The Indians little thinking what Tom was about stood in the path with hardly a twig to screen them from his murderous fire. Tom afterwards said that he did not stop to return the ramrods to their places until he had as many of his guns loaded as he thought he should need. He hesitated a moment after he was ready to shoot fearing that his guns would “miss fire,” in consequence of their late disuse; but knowing that this was his last chance, he blazed away at one of the savages who fell dead in his tracks. The other tried to get behind the nearest unoccupied tree, but he never reached there, a bullet sent him to the Spirit land, to join hands with those that had been sent there by Tom’s rifle on many occasions before. AN OLD LEGEND.