It was a hot day; the poor Indian soon became tired, and stopped work with a beating heart and bursting veins.
"Saw--saw!" said Mrs.Woods, with a sweep of her hands, as though some mysterious fate depended upon the order.
The saw went very hard now, for he did not know how to use it, and the wood was hard, and the Indian's only thought seemed to be how to escape.
Mrs.Woods held him in her power by a kind of mental magnetism, like that which Queen Margaret exercised over the robber.
"Water!" at last gasped the Indian.
"Saw--saw!" said Mrs.Woods; then turned away to bring him water.
When she looked around again, an unexpected sight met her eyes.

The Indian was flying away, taking the saw with him.

She never beheld either again, and it was a long time before any Indian appeared at the clearing after this odd event, though Mrs.Woods ultimately had many adventures among the wandering Siwashes.
A saw was no common loss in these times of but few mechanical implements in Oregon, and Mrs.Woods did not soon forgive the Indian for taking away what he probably regarded as an instrument of torture.
"I do hate Injuns!" she would often say; but quite likely would soon after be heard singing one of the hymns of the missionaries at the Dalles: "O'er Columbia's wide-spread forests Haste, ye heralds of the Lamb; Teach the red man, wildly roaming, Faith in Immanuel's name," which, if poor poetry, was very inspiring..