They remained in their covert until night, when they started again
on their long journey, taking a new route to avoid the Indians. At
daybreak they again concealed themselves, but travelled the next
night and day without resting. By this time they had consumed all
the bread which they had taken, and were fainting from hunger and
weariness. Just at the close of the third day they were
providentially enabled to kill a pigeon and a small tortoise, a part of
which they ate raw, not daring to make a fire, which might attract
the watchful eyes of savages. On the sixth day they struck upon an
old Indian path, and, following it until night, came suddenly upon a
camp of the enemy. Deep in the heart of the forest, under the
shelter of a ridge of land heavily timbered, a great fire of logs and
brushwood was burning; and around it the Indians sat, eating their
moose-meat and smoking their pipes.
The poor fugitives, starving, weary, and chilled by the cold spring
blasts, gazed down upon the ample fire, and the savory meats which
the squaws were cooking by it, but felt no temptation to purchase
warmth and food by surrendering themselves to captivity. Death in
the forest seemed preferable. They turned and fled back upon their
track, expecting every moment to hear the yells of pursuers.
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