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.