War–Eagle set free Nekimi, and led it towards its master. As soon as it was near enough to hear his voice, Reginald called to the noble animal, which, shaking its flowing mane, came bounding and snorting towards him. He caressed it for a short time, then vaulted upon its back, and was delighted to find that its spirit and strength had suffered no diminution since its capture. Again he dismounted, and Nekimi followed him unled, playing round him like a favourite dog. While he thus amused himself with his recovered steed, Baptiste sat by the side of a small streamlet, cleaning his axe and his rifle, and listening with a grim smile to Monsieur Perrot’s account of the danger from which he had been saved by his peruke. In the midst of his narrative, seeing some blood on the sleeve of his companion’s shirt, he said, “Baptiste, you are surely wounded?” “Yes,” replied the other; “one of the red–skins gave me a smartish stroke with a knife in that skrimmage—however, I forgive him, as I paid him for it.” “But would it not be better to attend to your wound first, and to your weapons afterwards?” “Why, no, Monsieur Perrot, that isn’t our fashion in the woods; I like first to make the doctor ready for service, and then it will be time enough to put a little cold water and a bandage to the cut.” The good–humoured Frenchman insisted upon his proposal, but had some difficulty in persuading the rough guide to let him dress the wound, which, though deep and painful, was not dangerous. On the following day, War–Eagle returned with his triumphant party and with the rescued horses towards the Delaware village, every bosom, save one, beating high with exultation. Reginald could scarcely control his impatience to relate to Prairie–bird the events of the successful expedition. The young warriors anticipated with joy the beaming smiles with which they would be welcomed by the Lenapé maidens; while those of maturer age looked forward to the well–merited applause of their chiefs, and the fierce excitement of the war–dance with which their victory would be celebrated. Baptiste had satiated his long–cherished vengeance on the tribe which had destroyed his parents, and Monsieur Perrot prepared many jokes and gibes, which he proposed to inflict upon Mike Smith, and those who had not partaken in the glory which he and his party had gained. War–Eagle alone shared not in the general joy! Whether it was that he could not prevent his thoughts from reverting to Prairie–bird, or that he was oppressed by a vague and mysterious presentiment of calamity, his demeanour was grave, even to sadness, and the trophies of victory hung neglected from the fringes of his dress. Having taken the shortest route, they arrived, a few hours before nightfall, at a point where a broad trail led direct to the encampment; and War–Eagle, whose penetrating eye had marked his friend’s impatience, and who never lost an opportunity of proving to him the warmth of his attachment, said to him,