MARTIN RATTLER. 201

good. Och, but if I wance had my pistol and the
ould cutlass. Well, well, it’s of no manner o’ use
frettin’. Good-night, Martin, good-night !”

The Irishman knocked the ashes out of his pipe,
turned his face to the wall, and, heaving a deep sigh,
speedily forgot his cares in sleep. The Indians also
lay down, the camp-fires died slowly out, and the deep
breathing of the savages alone betokened the presence
of man in that lone wilderness.

Barney’s forebodings proved to be only too well
founded, for next morning, instead of pursuing their
way together, as usual, the savages divided their
forces into two separate bands, placing the Irishman
and the old trader in the midst of one, and Martin
Rattler with the other.

“Surely they're niver goin’ to part us, Martin,”
said Barney with a careworn expression on his
honest countenance that indicated the anxious sus-
picions in his heart.

“JT fear it much,” replied Martin with a startled
look, as he watched the proceedings of the Indians.
“We must fight now, Barney, if we should die for it.
We must not be separated.”

Martin spoke with intense fervour, and gazed
anxiously in the face of his friend. A dark frown

had gathered there. The sudden prospect of being