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.”

“Accident!” iterated Joe; “who says it was an accident?”

“Wasn’t it an accident?” asked the simple girl.

“No, indeed!” replied Joe.  “But,” he continued, “have they blown up the other Indians yet?”

“Not yet—­but I heard them say they would do it very soon.  They can be heard digging under the snow now, very plainly,” said Mary.

“Indeed!” said Joe, with no little terror depicted in his face.  “I wish you’d go and ask Mr. Boone if he thinks you’ll be entirely safe, if you please, Miss Mary,” said Joe beseechingly.

“I will,” responded Mary, rising to depart.

“And if they ask how I am,” continued Joe, “please say I am a great deal better, but too weak yet to go out.”

Mary did his bidding; and when she returned, what was her astonishment to find her patient running briskly across the room from the cupboard, with a whole roasted prairie-hen in one hand, or at least the body of it, while he tore away the breast with his teeth, and some half dozen crackers in the other!  In vain did he attempt to conceal them under the covering of his bed, into which he jumped as quickly as possible.  Guilt was manifest in his averted look, his trembling hand, and his greasy mouth!  Mary gazed in silent wonder.  Joe cowered under her glance a few moments, until the irresistible flavour of the fowl overcame him, and then his jaws were again set in motion.