Summer had resigned her sway to Autumn in the green valleys of the Susquehanna and her tributaries, which spread out among the hills like the branches of some mighty forest tree, over whose curving and playful waters the green plumes of the forest trees had waved during the summer, now changed with the season; and Summer, the queen of flowers and ripening fruit, had wrapped herself in a mantle of green, and laid down to die as the sun gradually declined to southern skies and the Autumn Queen put on her gorgeous robes of many colors. The squirrel was seen to play on nimble feet through oak and chestnut groves gathering in his winter store. The deer, with her fawn, wandered through the grove unmolested, excepting at such times as Mayall needed venison for his own table.

One day, while seated beneath the vine-clad porch of his cabin, where the vines had been trained by his wife to tie in leafy coil over the door, he saw a woman in homespun dress advancing with hurried steps, weeping and mourning as she advanced towards him, and fell exhausted at his feet. Mayall raised her from the ground and inquired the cause of her grief. She soon recovered sufficiently to inform him that a party of nine Indian hunters had been prowling about her cabin for a couple of days, and that morning they had stolen her little daughter Nelly, but four years old, and bore her away in triumph without any regard to her screams or the lamentations of her mother for her only child.

Mayall listened with pity and grief to the poor woman's tale of woe, and impatiently said, "Why did not your husband follow the black thieves and bring back your child?"

"Oh dear," cried the poor woman, "what could he do with so many Indians?"

Mayall replied, "Follow them, and when a good opportunity offered, kill them, shoot the thieves and bring back your child. Better die like a man than live a coward here in this forest land, dreaming of robber band that bore away his only child to be a slave in some proud savage's smoky hut."

At this reply the woman became frantic with despair and cried out, "Oh, Mayall, for mercy save my child. You are the only man now living that can do it, and I will give you all I possess on earth and be your slave in the bargain."

Mayall was not deaf to sympathy. The fire of revenge began to kindle in his bosom; but how should he withstand the power and vengeance of nine brave men skilled in battle and the chase? He sat silent for a few moments. The flames of revenge began to burn in his iron will, which, when aroused, was terrible. He inquired the direction the Indians had gone with the child, and where their trail could be found, then told the woman to go home and take a good night's rest; he said the Indians had gone, and of course would not return unless they came to bring her Nelly back, and further she could do nothing to recover the child herself. He thought the child would be returned in the morning.

These words seemed to pacify her, and she returned home. As soon as his only neighbor, Miss Murphrey, was out of sight, Mayall examined his trusty gun and prepared cartridges equal to twice the number of Indians, placed his tomahawk and hunting-knife in his belt, then turned to his wife and said, "You must not look for me until I return. I will be back as soon as my mission is accomplished."

His mind then became calm and he sallied forth from his cottage as cheerful as a hunter in quest of game, and soon disappeared in the forest that surrounded his dwelling. The sun was descending towards the western hills in all her flaming glory as Mayall reached the summit of the dividing ridge between the Otego Creek and the Susquehanna Valley. Cautiously and slowly he descended the hill, keeping on the Indian trail.

As the shades of night hovered over the forest, Mayall left the trail and took his post on a small hill not far from the river, where he could hear the Indians preparing wood for their evening fire, and occasionally he could hear the child, Nelly Murphrey, crying for its mother. Mayall cautiously advanced through the thick forest, guided by the sound of the child's voice weeping and often calling for its mother, who lay wrapped in wakeful dreams several miles away. The voice of this weeping child nerved the old hunter's arm with the strength of a Samson, and filled his heart with a vengeance not his own. The hours seemed to linger into days as he lay crouched in the dark. At last the camp-fire of the Indians blazed up and illuminated the forest. Mayall lay secreted in a little thicket behind a knoll, where he could hear every word that was said, and he well understood the Indian dialect.

One Indian, who seemed to be their leader, said there would be no danger unless they got the old hunter on the trail, and to avoid him they must be up and away as soon as the day-star appeared.

The Indians partook of their evening meal and laid down to slumber and rest, not dreaming that the bold hunter, like the panther, was crouching near with sharpened tomahawk and knife, panting for an opportunity to avenge a woman's wrongs.

As the night wore away all became silent, excepting an occasional outbreak from little Nelly Murphrey, calling for her mother. The camp-fire no longer blazed, but the dying coals were yet red, and gave sufficient light to see the nine dark forms stretched on the forest floor. Mayall now began to move forward with cautious steps. He soon discovered by the flickering of the embers that the Indian on the watch had fallen asleep, with the stolen child nestling between him and the Indian warrior beside him.

Mayall took a cautious look. No Indian in his blanket stirred. All was silent, excepting the low murmuring of the Susquehanna rolling by. He noiselessly rested his gun behind a tree, and leaped like a tiger upon his prey, with his tomahawk in one hand, which he swung as fast as death could deal a blow, and his long knife gleaming by the light of the fire in the other. The last Indian in the circle, wakened by the screams of the child, leaped from his leafy bed and fled into the forest with the speed of a panther. Mayall, seeing his retreating form, sprang to the Indian's guns and fired three in quick succession after him, to speed his flight, and then, gathering up the remaining guns as quickly as possible, threw them upon the coals with the muzzles in the direction the Indian had gone, in order to keep up the firing until he could get out of hearing with the affrighted child before the Indian returned. He then took up Nelly, who was half dead with fright, and hurried off in the opposite direction as fast as possible. The sharp report of one gun after another broke the stillness of night until Mayall had got more than two miles from the bloody conflict with his prize, and had soothed the child's fears by softly whispering in her ear that he was carrying her home to her mamma.

Mayall now diverged from the trail and reached the place of his destination by a circuitous route, at times traveling in the channel of small brooks, in order to deceive the Indians, should they undertake to follow on the trail, to avenge the blood of his tribesmen. Mayall hurried on with his prize. The stars had faded from his view, and the morning sun had lighted up the concave of the skies, before he could reach the weeping mother with her little Nelly. Her mother had passed a sleepless night, and her wakeful eye had been turned in every direction to see if she could catch a glimpse or a sound from her little Nelly. None but a mother could realize her pain and anguish at the loss of her lovely child. As she stood looking she fancied she heard the faint sound of her prattling voice. A moment later she saw Mayall come in full view with little Nelly in his arms. The fond mother, now as frantic with joy as she had been the previous day with grief, rushed to meet Mayall. She met him some distance from her cabin, and little Nelly leaped with joy into her mother's arms as she fell at the feet of Mayall, to thank him for restoring to her loved embrace her only child. Mayall raised her to her feet and said, "I have done no more than my duty, and I have no time to waste. Swear to me before the God of Heaven that all that pertains to the loss and return of this child shall be kept a secret whilst I live."

After receiving her sacred promise not to reveal the secret, he disappeared again in the forest, and there was no human being left at liberty to tell the frightful story of the Indians' fate, excepting the Indian that made good his retreat.

The seasons rolled around, Autumn had again hung out her flag of many colors, and Nelly Murphrey, under the fond care of her mother, had grown to be a beautiful little girl, with her auburn hair drooping fondly in ringlets upon her shoulders, and appeared in all the beauty of innocence.

Whilst the mother was seated at her door, playing with little Nelly, she raised her eyes and saw a tall, stately Indian standing before her at a respectful distance. As soon as her eyes rested upon the Indian, she recognized him as being one of the band that stole her child. As Nelly saw him she screamed and flew back into the house. The sudden scream seemed to freeze her mother's blood, and she sat as immovable as a statue. The Indian stood perfectly quiet, without coming nearer. When she had recovered, he said he would not harm her nor her child; but she must tell him who brought back her child. She told him she found the child in the edge of the woods the next morning, and supposed that he had returned it. He then told her he had not, and she must find out who it was and let him know when he came around again. The mother watched the Indian until he disappeared in the forest, and then stealing away slyly in the opposite direction, and by taking a circuitous route, soon reached Mayall's cottage, and told Mayall that one of the same Indians that had stolen her Nelly had been at her house, trying to find out who brought her back. "I told him where I found her, and thought he had got tired of her and brought her back." Mayall then told her to go into his cottage and remain there with his wife and children until he returned. Taking good care to keep the doors securely bolted, and the axe in the house to use if they were molested, Mayall then took down his gun, prepared some cartridges, put on his belt, with his tomahawk and knife depending from it, and hanging by his side, and left the cottage.

Night came, but the hunter did not return. There was no moon, but the stars shone forth in tranquil loveliness as the night wore away. About midnight they heard a noise outside and near the cottage, and they crept cautiously to the window, which was nearly as high as one's head, but not of sufficient size to admit a common sized man, and looked cautiously out, and Mayall's cow was in his garden. Mrs. Mayall then told her that the Indian was near, and she must not show her head at the window, or she might be taken for her husband. The minutes now seemed to drag into hours, when that hungry cow was walking over the choice melons and devouring them, and in a few moments more she was eating and stamping down the corn which they had cultivated with care for their own domestic use. But time wore away, and all was still, excepting the cow in the garden. The sharp report of a gun was heard, and loud groans followed, which seemed to shake everything within like a clap of midnight thunder, and my brain seemed to reel, for deeds were going on I dare not look upon.

Soon after, some one, whom I took to be Mayall, for I could see by the light of the stars he had a gun in his hand, came and drove his cow out of the garden. Mrs. Mayall then told me her husband would be back in the course of an hour, and they would then be out of all danger; that her husband was then near the house. Our fears seemed to vanish, and we commenced talking and anticipating what had happened. Mrs. Mayall said the report was from her husband's gun; that she knew the sound from all other guns, and that, when in the hands of her husband, was sure death against prowlers of the night, whether they walked on two feet or four.

She then said she knew their game. The Indian had let the cow into the garden, expecting that her husband would come out, whilst he lay secreted to kill him. She said Mayall never slept in his house when he knew there were Indians watching for him, but always kept near enough to protect his house and family. Whilst we were anticipating what had been done in the dark, Mayall suddenly knocked three times on the door, then paused and struck one. Mrs. Mayall, without farther hesitation, sprang to the door and opened it. I said, "How dare you open that door?" She replied that his knock was different from all other men; she said she could tell by the day of the week, and no one knew the secret but herself.

Mayall entered the house without saying a word, bolted the door after him, laid down his gun, knife and tomahawk, and after telling me that I could go home in the morning if I chose, there would be no danger, he then laid down on his bed of straw, and was sound asleep in less than five minutes; and when I left his cottage in the morning he was still asleep. I took my little Nelly and returned to my cabin. Many strange thoughts passed through my troubled brain. Occasionally I seemed to hear the sharp report of a rifle; and then how came the blood on that tomahawk? The Indian never appeared again, nor could there be any trace of him found.