As early morning broke over the earth, two persons stood upon an eminence which overlooked the Indian village where Ashbey had taken up his residence. So close were they, that scarce two hundred yards separated them from the very cabin which contained Emily. These persons were none other than David Barring and his ally, Charles Markley. The former was pointing out to his companion the cabin of the renegade, and they were anxiously watching for any sign which should assure them that the one they sought was a prisoner within. Was she there! If so, how long before they could rescue her? For the thought of failure never entered the lover’s heart. Suddenly, from every hut and wigwam, poured forth a host of savages, young, old, and heterogeneous, taking their noisy way toward the lower portion of the village. As the three whites had approached the village, Alfred Markley had preferred an earnest request that he might be allowed to make the circuit of it, hoping to discover something of advantage to himself and companions. To this request, the scout had granted a ready consent—really supposing but little danger would exist at an hour so early. Alfred set out joyously, fully confident of rejoining his companions within an hour. He had found the way more rough and obstructed than anticipated; so that, in order to keep the village in view, and exercise due caution, he was obliged to proceed very slowly. For this he cared but little, rather preferring to await the time when the people would be astir, as the sanguine fellow more than half fancied he would thus be enabled to see the prisoner. A war-party of Indians, eager for the trail, had left the village a few moments before the three adventurers reached the vicinity. No sooner were they beyond the reach of other eyes, than their ardour cooled, and the entire party loitered about, until the light footfall of Alfred fell upon their keen ears. Without the least commotion, they instantly glided into cover. All unsuspicious of danger, Alfred walked directly into the trap. He had been obliged to make a slight _detour_, in order to avoid some obstacles in his way. This had taken him more deeply into the forest. The first premonitions he felt of danger, was upon noticing some dusky form glide from tree to tree. What it was, he could not tell; but, knowing he was in danger, he darted behind another tree, only to find himself face to face with a hideously-painted savage! Alfred was not the man to be tamely caught. His rifle was in his hand, and, darting back a pace, he delivered the astonished native a blow which ended his war-path forever, and transplanted him at once to the happy hunting-grounds of his forefathers. Scarcely had the blow descended, when three or four athletic braves hurled themselves upon the youth. Dropping his rifle as he fell, Alfred drew his hunting-knife, and, as an assailant exposed his breast, it was buried in his bosom.