when replaced, that no one would have been able to discover that an incision had been made. He then bade Mary a “Dud by” in bad English, and set off in a run in a northern direction for the purpose of joining the whites. Long and interminable seemed Mary’s confinement to her, but she was entirely comfortable in her hiding-place, as respected her body. Yet many dreadful apprehensions oppressed her still. She feared that the Indians would soon ascertain that she had left the canoe, and return and discover her place of concealment. At times she thought of the wild beasts prowling around, and feared they would devour her before assistance came. But the most harrowing fear was that the friendly Indian would abandon her to her fate or perhaps be _killed_, without making known her locality and helpless condition! Thus was she a prey to painful apprehensions and worrying reflections, until from exhaustion she sank into an unquiet and troubled slumber. With the first light of morning, the war-party sprang to their feet, and hastily dispatching a slight repast, they set out on their journey with renewed animation and increased rapidity. Before starting, the chief called to Mary, and again offered some food; but no reply being returned, or motion discovered under the robe which he imagined enveloped her, he supposed she was sleeping, and directed the party to select the most even route when they emerged in the prairie, that she might as much as possible enjoy her repose. The Indian who had planned and executed the escape of Mary, with the well-devised cunning for which the race is proverbial, had told his companions that he would rise before day and pursue the same direction they were going in advance of them, and endeavour to kill a deer for their next night’s meal. Thus his absence created no suspicion, and the party continued their precipitate retreat.