tomahawk just above the spot, thrusts in his hand and pulls out a large opossum, yelling and scratching and emitting a delicious scent in an agony of fear.  The tomahawk soon silenced him, and the carcass fell among the applauding whites.  Now it was Robinson’s turn.  He carved the raw animal for greater expedition, and George helped him to wrap each limb and carcass in a thin covering of clay.  Thus prepared, it was thrust into the great pile of burning ashes.

“Look yonder, do! look at that Jem!  Why, Jem, what are you up to, patroling like a sentinel out there?”

“Never you heed Jem,” was the dry reply; “you mind the roast, captain, and I’ll mind—­my business;” and Jem continued to parade up and down with his gun cocked and his eye piercing the wood.

To Robinson’s repeated and uneasy inquiries what meant this pantomime, Jem persisted in returning no answer but this:  “You want your dinner, captain; eat your dinner, and then I’ll hoffer a hobservation; meantime, as these woods are queer places, a little hextra caution is no sin.”

The pie dishes were now drawn out of the ashes and broken, and the meat baked with all its juices was greedily devoured.  “It tastes like a rabbit stuffed with peppermint,” said George, “and uncommon nice it is.  Now I am another man.”

“So am I; Jacky forever!”

“Now, Jem, I have dined.  Your story, if you please.  Why are you here? for you are a good fellow, but you haven’t got gumption enough to say to yourself, ’These two will get lost in the bush, I’ll take Jacky and pull them out.’”

“You are right, captain, that wasn’t the way at all; and, since your belly is full and your courage up, you will be able to enjoy my story better than you could afore.”

“Yes, so let us have it;” and Robinson leaned back luxuriously, being filled and warmed.

“First and foremost,” commenced this artful narrator, “there is a chap prowling in this wood at the present time with a double-barreled gun to blow out your brains, captain.”

“The devil,” cried Robinson, starting to his feet.

“And yours, farmer.”

“How do you know?” asked George, without moving.

“That is what I am going to tell you.  That Mary McDogherty came crying to my tent all through the snow.  ‘What is up?’ says I; says she, ‘Murder is up.’  Then she told me her cousin, an Irish boy, was at Bevan’s store and he heard some queer talk, and he looked through a chink in the wall and saw two rascals putting their heads together, and he soon made out they were driving a bargain to rob you two.  One was to do it, the other was a-egging him on.  ’I must have fifty pounds first,’ says this one.  ‘Why?’ says the other.  ’Because he has been and locked my pal up that was to be in it with me.’”

“Ah!” cried Robinson.  “Go on, Jem—­there is a clew anyway.”

“I have got a thicker one behind.  Says the other, ’Agreed! when will you have it?’ ‘Why, now,’ says t’other.  Then this one gave him a note.  Pat couldn’t see that it was a fifty, but no doubt it was, but he saw the man take it and put it in a little tin box and shove it in his bosom.”