thirty-two-pound shot into and about it, at intervals--as I pretty well
knew--of distressingly uncertain duration. With frantic strength I grasped
the Indian by the neck, and, plunging madly through the snow, dragged him
after me a few paces in the direction of our former track; but, hampered
as he was by the moose-trappings, the weight was too much for me, and I
dropped him, instinctively continuing to run with breathless speed, until,
having gained a considerable distance away from any probable line of fire,
I flung myself down upon the snow, and was somewhat startled at finding
Zach very close upon my tracks, tearing along on all fours with a vague
sense of danger of some kind, and looking, in his strange envelope, like
an infuriated bull-moose in the act of charging a hunter. A shot struck
the corner of the target just as we got away from it, slightly splintering
it, so as to give the bewildered Indian a pleasant practical lesson in the
science of gunnery and fortification.

Two minutes elapsed,--three minutes,--five minutes,--not another shot; but
it might commence again at any moment, and I stood at a respectful
distance from the danger, uncertain what course to pursue for the recovery
of my traps, all of which, rifle, snow-shoes, and _tobaugan_ loaded with
spoils, lay in pledge with the two-faced friend whose treacherous shelter
had no longer any charm for me, when I beheld several sleighs approaching
us from the town at a fearful pace, in the foremost of which, when within
range of rifle, I recognized Old Wabbles, the commandant.

"Who the Devil are you?" shouted he, as he drove right at us. "Two
Indians, ha!--somebody said it was _one_ Indian with a moose after him, a
man and a moose. Where's Thurlow?--_he_ had the telescope, and asserted
there was a man running round the target and a moose after him. I don't
see the moose." Zach had dropped the hide and horns from his "recreant
limbs," and was seated solemnly upon the snow, in all the majesty of his