"Just so," replied the old trader, wrinkling his fierce yet kindly face with a bland smile, "and you'll confer a great favour on me if you will stay and perform the ceremony. Of course, according to Scotch law, we could marry them without your assistance, but I respect the church, Mr Tucker, and think it becoming to have a clergyman on occasions of this kind." Having settled this important piece of business, Kenneth MacFearsome went off to make arrangements for the indispensable dance, and the clergyman, being fond of equestrian exercise, went out alone for an afternoon ride. That same afternoon a band of Indians belonging to the Blackfeet tribe encamped in a gloomy defile of the Rocky Mountains, not far from Mac's Fort. It was easy to see that they were a war-party, for, besides being armed to the teeth, their faces were hideously painted, and they had no women or children with them. They had stopped for the double purpose of eating a hasty meal and holding a council of war. One of the warriors stood up in the midst of his brethren and made a speech, which, to judge from its effect on the others, must have been highly inflammatory and warlike. During the delivery of it he turned his ugly visage frequently, and pointed, with his blue-striped nose, as it were, in the direction of Fort MacFearsome. Whatever might have been the tendency of the speech, it was suddenly cut short by the sound of a horse's hoofs clattering in the glen below. After bestowing a united eagle glance on the approaching horseman, the Blackfeet warriors turned a look of intelligence on each other, lay flat down in the long grass, and melted from the scene as completely and silently as snow-wreaths melt before the sun in spring. The Reverend William Tucker was a muscular Christian. That is to say, he believed that the body, as well as the soul, ought to be cultivated to the highest possible extent--both having the same origin--and held that physical health, strength, and vigour, if not absolutely necessary to the advancement of Christianity in the earth, were at least eminently conducive thereto. Holding such opinions, and being powerfully built, he threw himself heart and soul into whatever he did. Hence the clatter of his horse's hoofs as he galloped swiftly up the glen. But the Reverend William Tucker was also merciful, and not only drew rein when the path became too steep, but dismounted and led his steed by the bridle when he reached the rugged ground near the spot where the war-party had melted away.