Porcupine said he should report me as dead, or impossible to find; nor could I prevail on him to do any thing to the contrary. When reminded of the possible vengeance of the soldiers on his wives, whom they had threatened to kill if he did not bring me back, he laughed. “The white soldiers are cowards,” he replied; “they never kill women; and I will deceive them as I have done before.” Saying this, he took his departure; nor could my most urgent entreaties induce the chief to yield his consent, and allow me to send a written message to my friends, or in any way assure them of my existence. All hope of rescue departed, and sadly I turned again to the wearisome drudgery of my captive life. The young betrothed bride of the old chief was very gracious to me. On one occasion she invited me to join her in a walk. The day was cool, and the air temptingly balmy. “Down there,” she said, pointing to a deep ravine; “come and walk there; it is cool and shady.” I looked in the direction indicated, and then at the Indian girl, who became very mysterious in her manner, as she whispered: “There are white people down there.” “How far?” I asked, eagerly. “About fifty miles,” she replied. “They have great guns, and men dressed in many buttons; their wagons are drawn by horses with long ears.” A fort, thought I, but remembering the treacherous nature of the people I was among, I repressed every sign of emotion, and tried to look indifferent. “Should you like to see them?” questioned Egosegalonicha, as she was called. “They are strangers to me,” I said, quietly; “I do not know them.” “Are you sorry to live with us?” “You do not have such bread as I would like to eat,” replied I, cautiously. “And are you dissatisfied with our home?” “You have some meat now; it is better than that at the other camping-ground. There we had no food, and I suffered.” “But your eyes are swollen and red,” hinted she; “you do not weep for bread.” These questions made me suspicious, and I tried to evade the young squaw, but in vain. “Just see how green that wood is,” I said, affecting not to hear her. “But you do not say you are content,” repeated she. “Will you stay here always, willingly?” “Come and listen to the birds,” said I, drawing my companion toward the grove. I did not trust her, and feared to utter a single word, lest it might be used against me with the chief. Neither was I mistaken in the design of Egosegalonicha, for when we returned to the lodge, I overheard her relating to the chief the amusement she had enjoyed, in lying to the white woman, repeating what she had said about the fort, and inventing entreaties which I had used, urging her to allow me to fly to my white friends, and leave the Indians forever. Instantly I resolved to take advantage of the affair as a joke, and, approaching the chief with respectful pleasantry, begged to reverse the story.