The expression of her countenance is high and noble. Her eye is oblique. The lips meet with a double curve, and the throat is full and rounded. Her complexion is Indian; but a crimson hue, struggling through the brown upon her cheek, gives that pictured expression to her countenance which may be observed in the quadroon of the West Indies. She is a girl, though full-grown and boldly developed: a type of health and savage beauty. As she approaches, the men murmur their admiration. There are hearts beating under hunting-shirts that rarely deign to dream of the charms of woman. I am struck at this moment with the appearance of the young trapper Garey. His face has fallen, the blood has forsaken his cheeks, his lips are white and compressed, and dark rings have formed round his eyes. They express anger, but there is still another meaning in them. Is it jealousy? Yes! He has stepped behind one of his comrades, as if he did not wish to be seen. One hand is playing involuntarily with the handle of his knife. The other grasps the barrel of his gun, as though he would crush it between his fingers! The girl comes up. The Indian hands her the gourd, muttering some words in an unknown tongue--unknown, at least, to me. She takes it without making any reply, and walks off towards the spot where Rube had stood, which has been pointed out to her by her companion. She reaches the tree, and halts in front of it, facing round as the trapper had done. There was something so dramatic, so theatrical, in the whole proceeding, that up to the present time we had all stood waiting for the _denouement_ in silence. Now we knew what it was to be, and the men began to talk. "He's a-goin' to shoot the gourd from the hand of the gal," suggested a hunter. "No great shot, after all," added another; and indeed this was the silent opinion of most on the ground. "Wagh! it don't beat Garey if he diz hit it," exclaimed a third. What was our amazement at seeing the girl fling off her plumed bonnet, place the gourd upon her head, fold her arms over her bosom, and standing fronting us as calm and immobile as if she had been carved upon the tree! There was a murmur in the crowd. The Indian was raising his rifle to take aim, when a man rushed forward to prevent him. It was Garey! "No, yer don't! No!" cried he, clutching the levelled rifle; "she's deceived me, that's plain, but I won't see the gal that once loved me, or said she did, in the trap that a-way. No! Bill Garey ain't a-goin' to stand by and see it." "What is this?" shouted the Indian, in a voice of thunder. "Who dares to interrupt me?" "I dares," replied Garey. "She's yourn now, I suppose. You may take her whar ye like; and take this too," continued he, tearing off the embroidered pipe-case, and flinging it at the Indian's feet; "but ye're not a-goin' to shoot her down whiles I stand by." "By what right do you interrupt me? My sister is not afraid, and--" "Your sister!" "Yes, my sister."