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      Author : WHG Kingston

        I kept, as I was saying, my finger on the trigger, and my eye along the barrel of my rifle, fully expecting to see a Pawnee's red visage appear through the bushes. I knew that the dead racoon would betray me; so I resolved to fight it out to the last, and to sell my life dearly. I heard footsteps approaching?slowly and watchfully I thought: I peered down out of my leafy cover; the branches of the surrounding shrubs were pushed aside, and there, instead of the feathers and red face of an Indian, I saw the honest countenance of young Obed Ragget, looking cautiously about him on every side.

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