“We are now on the banks of this stream, and about this bend in it,” commenced the surveyor, pointing to the precise curvature of the river on a map he had spread before him, at which he supposed we were actually situated; “and the next thing is to find that ridge on which the moose was killed, and across which the line of the patent we seek is known to run. This abstract of the title tells us to look for a corner somewhere off here, about a mile or a mile and a half from this bend in the river--a black oak, with its top broken off by the wind, and standing in the centre of a triangle made by three chestnuts. I think you told me, David that you had never borne a chain on any of these ridges?” “No, sir, never;” answered David, the old chain-bearer already mentioned; “my business never having brought me out so far east.--A black oak, with corner blazes on it, and its top broken down by the wind, and standing atween three chestnuts, howsomedever, can be nothing so very hard to find, for a person that's the least acquainted. These Injins will be the likeliest bodies to know that tree, if they've any nat'ral knowledge of the country.” Know a tree! There we were, and had been for many hours, in the bosom of the forest, with trees in thousands ranged around us; trees had risen on our march, as horizon extends beyond horizon on the ocean, and this chain-bearer fancied it might be in the power of one who often passed through these dark and untenanted mazes, to recognise any single member of those countless oaks, and beeches, and pines! Nevertheless, Mr. Traverse did not seem to regard David's suggestion as so very extravagant, for he turned towards the Indians and addressed himself to them. “How's this?” he asked; “Jumper, do you know anything of the sort of tree I have described?” “No,” was the short, sententious answer. “Then, I fear, there is little hope that Trackless is any wiser, as you are Mohawk born, and _he_, they tell me, is at bottom an Onondago. What say you, Trackless? can you help us to find the tree?”