eyes, and the old dog's tongue hung out of his mouth a quarter of a yard
long!"

"Phe-e-e-e-w!" whistled somebody.

"Fact, gentlemen. Well, what I was to do I didn't know: rifle empty, no
big trees about, and a murdering red Indian not three hundred yards in
my rear; and what was worse, just then it occurred to me that I was not
a great ways from a big creek (now called Mill Creek), and there I
should be pinned at last.

"Just at this juncture, I struck my toe against a root, and down I
tumbled, and my old dog over me. Before I could scrabble up--"

"The Indian fired!" gasped the old woodsman.

"He did, gentlemen, and I felt the ball strike me under the shoulder;
but that didn't seem to put any embargo upon my locomotion, for as soon
as I got up I took off again, quite freshened by my fall! I heard the
red-skin close behind me coming booming on, and every minute I expected
to have his tomahawk dashed into my head or shoulders.

"Something kind of cool began to trickle down my legs into my boots--"

"Blood, eh? for the shot the varmint gin you," said the old woodsman, in
a great state of excitement.

"I thought so," said the Senator; "but what do you think it was?"

Not being blood, we were all puzzled to know what the blazes it could