Once more I proceeded on my journey, directing my course by the sun. I had hunted much on foot, and my limbs had become hardened by toil; so that I could journey long without sinking, though not without feeling fatigue. It was about an hour after mid-day when I again came in sight of a forest. There was a golden mark upon the prairie. The blackness stopped abruptly, and pointed out the spot where the fire, from some cause or other, had ceased its course in this direction. A lowering column of smoke, however, hanging like a sullen pall, in another quarter, showed that the element was still at work. Within half an hour, I reached the wood, and striking an Indian trail, entered it. It was a grove of tall, and beautiful hickories; and in the centre were the remains of an Indian hunting-camp. It had been occupied for some time, as the frames of the wigwams were more strong and durable in their structure, than those usually erected for transient purposes. They could have been abandoned but lately; for the bark was still green on the boughs composing them, and there were the recent foot-prints of horses. The dead pea-vines were trampled down by hoofs: and there was one rock, jutting out in the small stream meandering through the grove, which was covered with racoon fur, and here and there sprinkled with drops of blood. I sat down upon the rock, watched the waters, and thought of the former occupants of the grove. Had I been a day sooner, I might have met them; but then they might have been enemies. So I began to think that things were better as they were; for even the most friendly tribes, are apt to lose their good will towards he whites, when a single one falls into their power. Desolate as I was, I could not but be sensible of the beauty of the grove. I could see far down deep vistas, gilded here and there by the sunbeams. The wind had gradually died away. The stream glided murmuring over a rocky bottom, and here and there glittered like silver in the beams of the sun. The wild cry of the blue-jay was heard, hailing some noisy comrade in a distant tree-top. As I sat looking upon the water, I heard a slight noise in the stream, above me, and caught sight of a number of wood-ducks, borne on by the current. They are a beautiful bird. Now they glided beneath the shade of some plant that drooped over the water’s edge; now they whirled easily round, as some changeful current caught them in its lilliputian whirlpool. They chased each other sportively across the water, sometimes scouring up the stream, then again relinquishing themselves to its course. They were small game, but I was famished, and had my rifle in readiness. I waited until I got two of them in a range, and then fired. My bullet struck off the head of the first, and considerably confused the ideas of the second; but after splashing about, bottom upwards, and trying several other novel modes of navigation, he recovered himself, and flew after his companions.