“Don’t talk to me about being quiet, Benjamin Younker, away out here in the woods, a captive to such imps an them thar, with our house all burnt to nothing like, and our cows and sheeps and hosses destructed, and—­”

Here the speech of the good woman was suddenly cut short by the whizzing of a tomahawk past her head, which slightly grazed her cheek, and lodged in the tree a few feet beyond.  Whether it was aimed at her life and missed its mark, or whether it was merely done to frighten her, does not appear; though the manner of the savage, after the weapon was thrown, inclines us to the latter supposition; for instead of rushing upon her with his knife, he walked deliberately to the tree, withdrew the tomahawk, and then turning to her, and brandishing it over her head, said: 

“Squaw, still be!  Speak much, me killum!”

Be the design of the Indian what it might, the whole proceeding certainly produced one result, which nothing had ever been known to do before—­it awed to silence the tongue of Mrs. Younker, just at a moment when talking would have been such a relief to her overcharged spirit; and merely muttering, in an under tone, “I do jest believe the ripscallious varmint is in arnest, sure enough!” she held her speech for the extraordinary space of half an hour.

Meantime the other savages finished their repast; and having offered a portion of it to the prisoners, which the latter refused, they proceeded to destroy their fire, by casting the burning brands into the rushing waters of the stream below.  This done, they extended their circle somewhat—­each placing himself by a tree or rock—­and then in the most profound silence stood like bronzed statuary, apparently awaiting the arrival of another party.  At last—­and just as the sun was beginning to peep over the brow of the steep above them, and let his rays struggle with the matted foliage of the trees, for a glimpse of the roaring waters underneath—­one of the Indians started, looked cautiously around, dropped flat upon the earth; and then rising, and motioning with his hand for all to be silent, glided noiselessly away, like the shadow of some evil spirit, into the surrounding thicket.  He had scarcely been absent three minutes, when a slight crackling among the brush was heard near at hand; and immediately after he rejoined his companions, followed by a party of eight Indian warriors, and two white prisoners, headed by a low browed, sinister, blood-thirsty looking white man, in a garb resembling that worn by a subordinate British officer.  His coat was red, with facings of another color, underneath which was partially displayed a handsome vest and ruffled shirt.  About his waist passed a broad wampum belt, in which were confined a brace of silver mounted pistols, another pair of less finish and value, a silver handled dirk, a scalping knife and tomahawk, on whose blades could be seen traces of blood.  Around his neck was a neatly tied cravat, and dangling in front of his vest a gold