Their course was north-west, and Amy resolved to go willingly and escape at the first opportunity. The Indians said but little, but that little she understood perfectly, and soon learned the object of the Indians’ visit to that section. It was not to capture her, but Drake. That a ship was at Kingston, and they wanted Drake to sell to the Captain, that the young brave at her side was a son of the Chief of the tribe, that he saw her when she came out of the house, dressed like a queen, with the gun in her hand. He saw her aim at the squirrel and the head fall. He saw her climb the tree with the agility of a squirrel, and resolved to take her to his tribe and make her his wife—the queen of his lodge. Amy was satisfied that her friends would pursue and rescue her if possible. She understood the instinct of the dog, and knew that Rolla would find their trail and follow it. The Indians moved with all possible speed, but Amy was equal to the emergency. They crossed the ridge about half a mile north of Hawk’s Nest, and bent their way towards Mongaup River. It was dark when they reached the River, and here, for the first time, the Indians changed their tactics, and endeavored to hide their trail. Two of the Indians took hold of Amy’s hand, one on each side, and stepped in the cool waters of the Mongaup, and started up stream. Amy was well acquainted with all the rivers and streams, having accompanied Tom and Drake on their fishing excursions after the speckled trout, in which the river abounded, but the forest was so dense and the night so dark that she could not locate the spot. After wading through the water for about two hours, they turned into a gulch of the mountains through which a small stream flowed, the Indians being particular that every step should be in the water, so as to leave no trail. In their ascent, they were required to climb over falls five and six feet in height. Thus they traveled in total darkness for an hour, when a familiar sound struck Amy’s ear. She heard the roaring water and surging cataract. She knew the sound and could locate the place as easily as she could by daylight. It was Bushkill Falls, a narrow, deep glen, with rocks ascending on both sides several hundred feet high. The Falls are in sections, and drop about two hundred feet. The largest, at the bottom, is forty feet, and drops into a basin below. It is seventy-five feet in diameter, and is alive with trout. To the right of the basin is the much dreaded snake den—the largest ever known. Here, at any time between May and November, the rattler and copperhead are to be found, in May when they go out, and November when they go in, and can be counted by the hundreds. All kinds of snakes burrow together in harmony during the winter. The green snake of twelve inches and the blacksnake of twelve feet lie side by side, locked in the cold embrace of frost.