"What's goin' on here?" called the ringing voice of Andrew McPhail, who had just driven up with Link. Several of the crowd looked over their shoulders at McPhail. "Hello, Mac! Just in time. Oh, nawthin'. Barney's callin' on the banker, that's all." Over the heads of the crowd, packed struggling about the door, came the woman's scream again.

It was an hour beyond noon when we were in readiness to start. We took two of the baggage-horses with us, to carry the tent-poles and covering, and a few utensils. Our personal baggage was packed on the horses we rode. Bradley and Don Luis rode in advance, José followed with the baggage-horses, and McPhail and myself brought up the rear.

It was McPhail, careful godfather, who had taken him as a recruit to the regimental barber and prescribed a transformation from the sleek long hair brushed back over the head to a conventional military crop with a rudiment of a side parting. On the crown a few bristles stood up as if uncertain which way to go. "It's advisable," Doggie replied, "for a Tommy's hair to be cut as short as possible.

That evening in sudden brawl and in plain view of Mr. McPhail, the agent, one of Red Dog's braves stabbed to the heart the lover of a Brulé girl whom he had affronted. "Arrest him!" ordered McPhail, who then turned and ran in-doors, after his pistol, as he said, possibly forgetting that it was already on his hip.

I know you, Thunder Hawk," continued McPhail, his courage and his choler rising alike as he saw that the Indians were slowly recoiling, and evidently meant no further mischief. "I know you, and I order your arrest right here and now. As for the young dog that attacked my son, I'll demand him of White Wolf in half an hour with five hundred soldiers at my back."

He was stunned by the fall, and lay insensible on the ground, quite unconscious that the horse of one of the robbers had trampled upon him, as had evidently been the case. Don Luis, Bradley, McPhail and José left us about noon on their way to Sutter's Fort. I promised to rejoin them in a few days, if Malcolm so far recovered as no longer to be in need of my services.

Hech, mon, were ye leevin now, ye might say it at your leisure. DOMINIE McPHAIL. The Dominie was right. It's a lying world. It does not improve with age either. The habit has become chronic, and the worst of all is, that the world has told some lies so often, that it actually now believes them itself. The wretched family propagates, too, at a terrible rate.

Bradley, Joe White, and José, are to be our hunters; Malcolm, Lacosse, and McPhail, are to set to work to-morrow to make a couple of cradles, the carpenter giving them an occasional helping hand, but occupying himself principally in superintending the construction of a large shanty, sufficient to accommodate the whole party, with a rough fortification around, com posed of pine logs and palisades, pointed at the top, sufficient to enclose a space of ground into which the horses could be driven at night, out of the way of any outlying Indian who might be thievishly inclined.

Where McPhail was last seen The trapper's keen eyes A nap in the open air The Author woke up Camp-fires A surprise attempted Horses left in charge The tactics of the advance and the retreat A shot from a rifle, and a man wounded A salute The rifle shot explained Horses driven off A volley fired Poor Horry scalped The trapper promises vengeance The wounded man Grief at the loss of a friend A mystery explained Horry's grave His funeral and monument.

But I've learned better since then." "Ay," remarked Phineas gravely. "Mr. McPhail," she said, after a pause, "it wasn't those rotten ideas that prevented me from marrying him " "I know, my dear little lady," said Phineas, grasping the plucking hand. "You just loved the other man as you never could have loved Doggie, and there's an end to't. Love just happens. It's the holiest thing in the world."