“I hope it will kill ’em all!” said Sneak. “Watch close, and perhaps _you_ will kill one yet from this loophole,” said Boone, returning to his post, where the slow-match was exposed through the palisade near the ground; and Roughgrove stood by, holding a pistol, charged with powder only, in readiness to fire the train when Boone should give the word of command. Boone applied his ear to a crevice between the timbers near the earth, where the snow had been cleared away. After remaining in this position a few moments, he beckoned Glenn to him. “Place your ear against this crevice,” said Boone. “It is not the Indians I hear, certainly!” remarked Glenn. The sounds resembled the ticking of a large clock, differing only in their greater rapidity than the strokes of seconds. “Most certainly it is nothing else,” replied Boone. “But how do they produce such singular sounds? Is it the trampling of feet?” continued Glenn. “It is the sound of many tomahawks cutting a passage,” replied Boone. “But what disposition do they make of the snow, when it is cut loose.” “A portion of them dig, while the rest convey the loose snow out and cast it down the cliff.” While the above conversation was going on, a colloquy of a different nature transpired within the house. Joe, after recovering from his second temporary insensibility, had sunk into a gentle doze, which lasted many minutes. Mary had bathed his face repeatedly with sundry restoratives, and likewise administered a cordial that she had brought from her father’s house, which seemed to have a most astonishing somniferous effect. When the contents of the bottle were exhausted, she sat silently by, watching Joe’s apparent slumber, and felt rejoiced that her patient promised a speedy recovery. Once, after she had been gazing at the fawn, (that had been suffered to occupy a place near the wall, where it was now coiled up and sleeping,) on turning her eyes towards the face of Joe, she imagined for a moment that she saw him close his eyelids quickly. But calling him softly and receiving no answer, she concluded it was a mere fancy, and again resigned herself to her lonely watch. When she had been sitting thus some minutes, watching him patiently, she observed his eyes open slowly, and quickly smack to again, when he found that she was looking at him. But a moment after, conscious that his wakefulness was discovered, he opened them boldly, and found himself possessed of a full recollection of all the incidents of the night up to his disaster. “Have they whipt all the Indians away that were standing out on the snow, Miss Mary?” “Yes, long ago—and none have been seen, but the one you killed, for some time,” she replied, encouragingly. “Did I kill one sure enough?” asked Joe, while his eyes sparkled exceedingly. “Yes, indeed,” replied she; “and I heard Mr. Boone say he was glad it happened, and that the accident was, after all, a fortunate thing for us.”