"Ef you mean you're on the marry," he said, thoughtfully, "I ain't
in no wise partikler!"

"My husband," faltered the blushing girl; and she fell into his
arms.

In ten minutes more the loving couple had landed at Judge
Tompkins's.


CHAPTER VI.


A year has passed away. Natty Bumpo was returning from Gold Hill,
where he had been to purchase provisions. On his way to Donner
Lake, rumors of an Indian uprising met his ears. "Dern their pesky
skins, ef they dare to touch my Jenny," he muttered between his
clenched teeth.

It was dark when he reached the borders of the lake. Around a
glittering fire he dimly discerned dusky figures dancing. They
were in war paint. Conspicuous among them was the renowned Muck-a-
Muck. But why did the fingers of Natty Bumpo tighten convulsively
around his rifle?

The chief held in his hand long tufts of raven hair. The heart of
the pioneer sickened as he recognized the clustering curls of
Genevra. In a moment his rifle was at his shoulder, and with a
sharp "ping," Muck-a-Muck leaped into the air a corpse. To knock