The Trail of the Seneca Part 2

"There he goes! There-did you see that?" came an excited undertone from Jerome as if in answer.

Instantly Kingdom looked out but he saw nothing.

"I vow! I think it was the Seneca!" John whispered. "He ran from the big beech near the patch to the clump of little trees at the left. Guess he thought no one was watching but you, and darted out when your back was turned."

"I'll stay back out of sight a bit, and you look sharp. Maybe we can make out what they're up to," Kingdom replied. Then, to lead the savages to suppose that their presence was not suspected, Ree went about making a bright fire as if to prepare dinner, and soon the smoke from the cabin chimney conveyed to the crouching redskins in hiding along the clearing's edge the very impression he wished them to receive.

Kingdom spent half an hour,-a long half hour of suspense and anxious thoughts-in putting the room to rights, busying himself in a dozen different ways, while John peered closely from the crack, to see through which his eyes had already been strained so long they ached severely. Still he saw nothing. Whether the savages were only extremely wary or whether, as the boys fervently hoped, they had slipped away and gone as silently as they came could not be known, and continued vigilance was the only key to their safety.

All day John Jerome remained concealed in the loft, watching almost constantly from the narrow crevice which permitted him to see without being seen. All day Return Kingdom went about from the cabin into the lean-to barn, from the barn into the cabin again, and in and out of the open door a hundred times on one pretext and another, doing his best to make his every movement seem composed and natural.

He was certain in his own mind that the savages were watching for John. Perhaps they expected to see him in some fantastic and witch-like shape,-see him change from a cloud to human form, or turn himself into some wild beast.

Once a wandering crow flew into the clearing and circled idly over the little cornfield. As it flew down to a shock of corn, both boys chanced to notice it and both saw, too, a sudden, rapid movement, and then another and another, within the fringe of the woods. Were they the dancing shadows of wind-tossed branches, or were the Seneca and his band still near? Quick as the movements were, little as the boys had seen, they knew the answer to the question which occurred to them and thanked the vagrant crow for the information he had been the means of giving them.

"Still," said John, "if those fool Delawares get it into their heads that that crow is me, and like as not Lone-Elk may tell 'em some such thing, it'll just make the whole lot of them believe more than ever that I am a sure enough witch."

Full well did Kingdom realize how very correct John's observation probably was. He was confident that it was the crow which occasioned the moving about among the hiding Indians,-the flitting shadows both he and John had seen. He made no answer to his friend's remark at once, but turned over again in his mind a plan which he had been considering all day. It seemed wise. He could think of nothing better.

"John," said Ree at last, "if they stay away till it's dark enough to do it, how would you like to slip away and go up among the rocky ledges for a few days?"

"Hide?" Jerome demanded rather contemptuously.

"Why, no! There's no need to call it hiding," Kingdom answered tactfully. "Just stay away from the cabin for awhile and give me a chance to find out what killed Big Buffalo and get the witch idea out of these crazy Delawares' minds."

"But, don't you-"

"I know what you're going to say. It is, don't I think that the fact of your being away will make the Indians all the more certain about this witchcraft business-make them think you've skedaddled! We can't help what they think. We do know, though, that they're after you and either we've got to pack up and light out, or get this witch idea out of their heads. Now I think I can do it, in spite of Gentle Maiden's discouraging talk; if I only have a chance."

On one point, as the discussion continued, hardly above a whisper, both boys agreed. It was that some time during the night the Indians would visit the cabin. They might come as if in a friendly way just to learn whether Little Paleface was there; or they might make a determined attack. The redskins' supposition that Ree was alone, confirmed by all that they had seen during the day, however, would probably suggest to them an apparently friendly, but in reality spying, visit.

In whatever way the lads viewed their situation they found so much of uncertainty surrounding them that at best they must take a chance.

Often and often was it this way in pioneer days. Every important movement was encompa.s.sed by more or less danger. If a settler needed but to go to mill, or to some frontier trading place for supplies, he confronted many uncertainties and often left his family in danger, too. Danger was always present, and although only the foolhardy were disregardful entirely, even the most prudent came by constant a.s.sociation to take it as a matter of course.

The latter was the feeling of the two boys from Connecticut. If they had been less accustomed to the alarms of the wilderness, they would, in the pinch in which they now found themselves, most probably have sought safety at once at Fort Pitt or perhaps at some of the Ohio river settlements. If they had done so their story would have been a very different one.

Though he had but reluctantly agreed to Ree's proposal, not wis.h.i.+ng to leave his friend to face the situation alone, John found so much to think about in the prospect of spending the night-and it might be many nights and days-alone in the woods, that the reflection that he also would be in danger was almost comforting. He thought with dread of the long and lonely hours of darkness without even a camp-fire's comfort, but somehow there was something quite interesting about it all, too. Perhaps it was the change and the excitement, as he planned how stealthily he would steal through the woods, that appealed to him. Certain it is that he found himself anxious to be gone, and watching the deepening shadows almost impatiently lest something happen to prevent his departure before thick darkness came. His greatest fear lay in the fact that on three sides at least the cabin was, in all probability, still surrounded by Indians. On the fourth or west side was the river. How was he to reach the open woods? How reach the rocky ledges to the north and east, among whose deep ravines and clefts and long, narrow pa.s.sages and shallow caves he would remain until the rage of the savages had pa.s.sed?

A bank of clouds, wide as the eye could see above the treetops, had come up out of the southwest to meet the sinking sun and, when at last the shadows had filled the valley, darkness came on rapidly. The wind rose, too, and quite before its approach was suspected, a drizzling fall rain had set in, which gave promise of continuing all night.

The cabin door had stood open all day, but Ree felt he could close it now without exciting the suspicions of those who watched. As he did so, John clambered quickly down from the low loft and slipped noiselessly through the low opening connecting the lean-to stable and the single room of the cabin itself. How well he remembered the good purpose the hole had served once before! He remarked to Ree about it with a nervous little laugh, recalling that lively battle of their early days in the woods and how nearly fatal to them both it had been. But Kingdom told him to make haste; that they could not know who was watching now, and in the darkness there might be Indians even within hearing of a whisper.

Ree had improved the opportunity before night came on to fill John's powder horn and bullet pouch and to pack in the form of a knapsack for him a blanket and a supply of dried meat and bread. These, with Jerome's rifle, he had previously pa.s.sed through the "cat hole," as it was called, into the stable; but now that John had followed them, he suddenly found himself wis.h.i.+ng that he had planned otherwise. Yet confident all was for the best, though the wind never had had so much of awful homesickness in its mournful sounds before, though the rain never before had beaten with such seeming tearful sorrow upon the roof, he whispered hastily: "Be careful, old boy. Look for news by the day after tomorrow if you hear nothing before, and be sure that everything will be all right in a few days at most."

"And you come where I am the minute you're in danger, mind," John answered. "Good-bye, Ree, I'm going along the river's edge. It'll be easy to get past anybody or anything tonight. Good-bye."

Ree would have whispered another word of caution and of farewell, but he realized that John was gone-felt it in his very bones that he was alone, alone; and the autumn wind blew more mournfully than ever; the patter of the raindrops sounded twice as melancholy as before.

For many minutes Kingdom intently listened, then throwing wide the cabin door, made a pretense of emptying just beyond the doorstep the wooden, trough-like bowl which did duty as a wash basin. Though he made a brave show of unconcern, his heart beat hard and fast. But he was glad to see how totally dark the night was. One must have been very close indeed if he had seen John emerge from the darkness of the lean-to into the equal blackness without, he thought. Surely the Indians, if still watching, would never suspect him going out that way, and not having seen him at all would be very certain that he had been gone for a full day at least, should they call at the cabin and still not discover him.

Despite the storm, the night was warm for so late in the season, and Kingdom was glad to have the door ajar while he waited for the first step which would tell him of the Indians' coming. He had no doubt they would come, unless their general plan was quite different from what he supposed it to be. Still, time dragged on bringing no tidings-no sound but the drip, drip of the rain, the sad sighing of the wind and now and then the rattle of some loose puncheon on the roof, moved by a pa.s.sing gust more lively than the rest.

Again and again Ree mentally computed the distance John had probably traveled in the time that he had been gone. "Now he must be just about at the foot of the bluff and creeping along the water's edge, s.h.i.+elded by the higher bank of the river," he thought at first. "Now he must be half-way to the woods. Now, if nothing has happened, he is past the worst of the danger and safe among the trees."

And so thinking, encouraged by the absence of any alarming sound, Kingdom breathed easier, and was glad John had gone along the river instead of trying to cross the stream just at the cabin's rear and so gain the cover of the trees more quickly, as he had originally proposed, and would have done but for the possibility that even on the opposite bank of the stream there were watchers in hiding.

But safe and certain as John's escape seemed to Ree, the truth was that during these past few minutes that young man had been in decidedly greater danger of losing his scalp than he cared ever to be again.

Creeping on hands and knees close to the wall whose dark background would help conceal his movements, John had made his way out of the barn and around to the rear of the cabin. Almost flat on his stomach, he drew himself slowly along the bluff and so descended to the valley where the river bank was not nearly so steep and comparatively low, rising only a few feet above the level of the water. Crawling cautiously along the narrow strip of slippery beach between the river's edge and the bank, he progressed steadily toward the woods. Often he paused to listen, and even when he moved on again he strained his ears and tried his utmost to see; but so deep was the darkness that, except for the denser black wall in the distance, which he felt rather than saw was the woods, he was certain that his situation, so far as seeing went, would be the same with his eyes shut as with them wide open.

In one of his pauses to hearken closer than he could do when moving, John thought he heard a low, hoa.r.s.e "Ugh!"-an inarticulate sound, but one which seemed to express impatience, weariness, and "What's the use?" combined. He fancied he could see the shrug of the Indian's shoulders who, he was sure, was responsible for the guttural noise. For a long time the boy did not move. The rain came dripping down almost noiselessly. The wind whispered ever so softly in the lower parts of the valley and seemed to make no sound whatever save in the woods. To John it seemed that he waited an hour, though in fact it was but a few minutes. Over his shoulder he could see the ray of light from the cabin's open door. How far away it looked! Still that was fortunate. He would not have had it nearer for a great deal. Now he would try again. Softly-softly he raised one hand from the ground; softly, softly he raised a foot.

"Ugh!" Again it came; scarcely audible was the sound but the fierce howl of a wolf directly in his ears would not have startled, and frightened more the young white man crouching by the water.

The danger seemed nearer now-not more than three yards from him, John was certain-perhaps only two. He felt that he could put out his hand and touch the place from which it came. Again he was quiet, so quiet that he breathed in noiseless little gasps, a thing so trying on his throat and lungs that he would have felt as comfortable had he tried not to breathe at all.

But soon came another sound. Instantly John recognized it-the stealthy dipping of the paddle and low murmur of water against the nose of a canoe. Where was the canoe headed? That was the question. Toward him? Either that or up stream. The murmur of the current indicated that the craft ran not with it but against it. Now he heard the canoe touch the half submerged gra.s.s close in to sh.o.r.e. It was just abreast of him and within two arms' length. Now it grated ever so lightly upon the gra.s.s which, before the fall rains, had been quite up out of the water.

Again light as a feather came the dip of the paddle, again the soft murmur of the water barely heard above the quiet, even patter of the rain. At the same moment John felt himself slipping. Slowly the wet ground was giving way beneath him. He must move. It was a case of two dangers, either stand still and slide violently into the river, or move on a step and- He must run the risk. Faster and faster he was sliding down. He must step quickly, and step quickly he did. He made no noise himself, he thought, but some pebble or bit of earth, loosened by his movement, rolled down and dropped with a splash into the water. Again came the muttered "Ugh!" something lower than before, and oh! Heaven be praised! no longer abreast but some yards from him.

Again came the low dipping of the paddle. They were patrolling the river for him, John knew now; but they would not find him. They might paddle silently up and down the whole night long, if they wished. In fact he rather hoped they would, and chuckled inwardly at the thought.

CHAPTER VI-"THE WITCH IS HIDDEN HERE."

That part of Lone-Elk's band which had been appointed to hide along the river bank throughout the day and paddle up and down in the densest shadows of the sh.o.r.es when night had come, did not keep up their search as long as John had hoped they would, when he silently chuckled over the thought of their waste of time and effort.

When they pa.s.sed so close to the lad they sought, not more than one of them suspecting how very near he was, the Delawares were closing in on the cabin, together with others on sh.o.r.e. Lone-Elk had given the signal, by pa.s.sing the word quietly along the irregular line his braves made around the clearing, after waiting all day long. He hoped to find the "witch" in hiding in the little cabin. Even if he did not, he would impress the Delawares with the seeming truth of the charge he had made against the young white man by showing that he was away from home, engaged, presumably, in some of his dreadful witch's work. The Seneca had, moreover, a plan in mind which made a visit to the home of the young Palefaces desirable from his point of view, whether the one they sought should be discovered or not, and now would be as good a time as any for the carrying out of his purpose.

While the Indians were yet at a distance, Kingdom, watching and listening in the cabin, heard their approach. He had kept his rifle close at hand all day, and now he casually picked the weapon up and with a show of idle carelessness polished its glossy stock with a bit of buckskin.

The savages came silently on, apparently without effort to keep from being heard. Kingdom was aware that they kept their line spread out so as to form a semicircle which, together with the river, would wholly enclose the little log house. His sharp ears a.s.sured him that this was done, but it was with well acted surprise that he sprang lightly up and stepped toward the door when Lone-Elk and one other Indian showed themselves at last within the dim ray of light s.h.i.+ning from the fireplace.

"Come in! It's wet and bad outside! Bring them all in!" he called pleasantly, meeting the Seneca at the threshold and glancing out as if he plainly saw the whole line of Indians outside, which in fact he did not see at all.

"White Fox speaks kindly," answered Lone-Elk, calling Ree by the name the Delawares had long ago given him.

Only the Seneca and the one other Indian drew near the lighted s.p.a.ce about the door, however, and these two now entered as if they were quite by themselves.

"Why should I not?" Ree answered to the Seneca's remark, noticing as he did so, how searchingly both the savages were looking about the cabin's single room. "We,-my white brother and myself-have had the friends.h.i.+p of the Delawares always."

"It is as the white brother says," said the second Indian, a powerful fellow whom Kingdom now recognized as a brave from the Delaware town on the Muskingum, and whom he had seen a number of times before. As he spoke, this Indian looked at Lone-Elk inquiringly. Perhaps the Seneca considered his words a challenge. At any rate he said sharply: "Where is the other white brother! Does the White Fox wish to hide him then, if he is the friend of the Delawares? Will the White Fox hide the witch that breathed poison breath upon Big Buffalo, the witch that with a hatchet killed a Delaware warrior, yet left no mark?"

"What's this you say? What wild talk is this, Lone-Elk? Has Lone-Elk drunk of the firewater that he comes speaking so absurdly?"

Kingdom spoke with a show of temper and in a manner distinctly creditable to the part he was bound to act.

"It is the law that witches must be put to death," the Seneca returned vigorously. "Lone-Elk has said that Little Paleface with a witch's hatchet killed a Delaware warrior-killed Big Buffalo. Now must the witch be given up to the friends of him that was killed."

"Well, I can only tell you that the one you call Little Paleface is not here. He is far away and may not come back for some days," Kingdom answered quietly. "Now if Lone-Elk will believe this, and it is the truth, he will return to the town of the Delawares and I will myself go there tomorrow to have a talk. Is it a friendly thing for Delaware braves to remain hidden all about the lodge of their Paleface brothers as they are doing now? Let them all come into the light. Let them see that my brother who is accused so falsely-so unfairly and so unjustly-let them see, I say, that he is not here, and we will plan to have a talk tomorrow."

Lone-Elk gave a short, fierce whoop. Instantly fifteen or more Indians rushed into the cabin, crowding-the little room quite uncomfortably.

"The witch is hidden," said Lone-Elk, loudly. "If the Little Paleface is here let him show himself."

As Kingdom looked quickly from one to another of the Indians he observed with sorrow that Fis.h.i.+ng Bird was among them. Had this good fellow turned against his white friends, too? But no, that quick friendly look as their eyes met was proof of his friends.h.i.+p still.

There being no answer to the Seneca's invitation to Little Paleface to show himself, except the grunted "Ughs!" of some of the Delawares, Lone-Elk sprang quickly up the ladder of poles and peered into the loft. Others followed his example, climbing up on stools or by the aid of the roughness of the wall. Some looked up the chimney. Some searched here, some there. One party of five or six, lighting hickory bark torches at the fire, went into the barn. In five minutes the whole cabin was turned topsy-turvy.

"You see it is just as I told you in the beginning," said Kingdom in a friendly tone, but somewhat impatiently. "Now will you not consent to a talk! Let it be in the Council House of the Delawares-let it be any place you choose. I think I can prove to you that this charge of witchcraft is placed against one who is as true and honest as ever man could be."

Ree was sorry to see that the Delawares looked to Lone-Elk to answer. He had more fear of this one Indian, under the circ.u.mstances, than of any other half dozen warriors in Captain Pipe's town.

"Let it be as the White Fox says," the Seneca answered. "Yet will my Paleface brother not deceive himself by thinking he deceives Lone-Elk. The Paleface witch but hides. If it is not so, let the witch come to the talk."

Not for a second did Kingdom allow this challenge to be unanswered. Like a flash every eye had turned to him; but instantly he said: "Will the Seneca go to Fort Pitt and there put Little Paleface on trial before those whose customs are the customs of the Palefaces? No, of course he will not. And just so would it not be fair for Lone-Elk to demand more than he would be willing himself to give."

HE KEPT HIS EYES ON THE SENECA UNCEASINGLY.

The justice of Kingdom's position was clear to the majority of the Indians and he could not help but notice it; still Lone-Elk's reply in curt, surly tones was far from pleasing.

"Yet the White Fox asks for a talk! Like squaws that tell one another of the worms that harmed the corn does the Paleface want the Delawares to meet together with him and speak idle words! Words! Words, that mean nothing and come to nothing."

With a move of his hand to his companions to follow, the Seneca left the cabin. Rapidly the other Indians marched off in single file after him. Fis.h.i.+ng Bird, somehow, was the last to leave. As he went out of the door, he cast a glance of friendliness, which was also a look of warning, to Ree and the peace of mind of that young gentleman was not increased thereby.

By no means certain that the Indians would not return, Kingdom sat for a long time on the edge of his bunk, listening and thinking. He had great satisfaction in knowing that John was comparatively safe for the time, at least, and thankful, indeed, that his chum's departure had been so timely. He longed for another and more satisfactory talk with Fis.h.i.+ng Bird. He must have such a talk, he resolved, if it could by any chance be arranged, before he undertook to show the Delawares that Big Buffalo had not been killed by witchcraft. Perhaps that friendly fellow would be able to give him the right clue to the whole situation. Might it not be he would frankly declare that it was by the hand of Lone-Elk, himself, that the warrior's life had been snuffed out!

In his own mind Ree had little doubt concerning the true cause of Big Buffalo's death; but by what means the Seneca had put out of his way the one member of Captain Pipe's community who openly resented his leaders.h.i.+p there would most probably be a difficult question to answer.

So the lonely lad sat pondering a long time; how long he did not know or care. The rain was still falling, the wind still sighing dolefully when he arose at last, closed and barred the door, also barred the opening which served as a window, and removing only his moccasins lay down to rest. Repeatedly did he picture to his mind's eye John Jerome tramping slowly, silently through the wet leaves, among the dripping underbrush and trees, stopping often to get his bearings from the wind, and so making his weary and most lonesome way to the protection they had agreed upon.

Repeatedly his thoughts returned to the "big talk" which he must attend tomorrow; but sound sleep came to him at last, even while a crouching figure moved swiftly and stealthily into the clearing and paused as if in hiding behind a shock of corn-the very one on which the crow had perched in the afternoon-then stole on again and disappeared.

Even as the first object appeared, another approached the cabin and moved to the protection of the darker shadows of the stable. For a minute or two the figure stood quiet in the denser darkness beside the building, then moved cautiously toward the little cornfield as if attracted by a faint rustle of corn leaves which seemed to come from that vicinity.

The rain still fell in a quiet, unbroken drizzle, but the wind had abated and there was no reason to suppose that it caused the movement of the corn, which attracted the attention of the crouching creature. Still listening with utmost care, the crouching figure moved nearer to the spot from which the noise ensued.

To discern any object that was without motion, at a distance of even a few feet in the pitch darkness, was an impossibility; but as the rustling of the corn ceased, the one who had been attracted by the sound made out a stealthy movement in the vicinity and instantly stood still. When the darker shadow had pa.s.sed beyond his vision he dropped to the ground and listened with his ear against the wet gra.s.s and earth. After a time he rose and ran forward ever so lightly, pausing at the edge of the woods.

Hour after hour pa.s.sed. A dull gray light appeared on the clouds to the east. Rising then, and stretching himself, the silent watcher with frequent looks toward every point went directly to the barn built up against the white boys' cabin, opened the door and leaving it slightly ajar, sat down upon the floor in such a way that he could command a view of the greater part of the clearing.

The opening of the door of the barn made Return Kingdom move, sound asleep though he was, and directly he awoke, conscious of having heard some disturbing sound. What it was he did not know. For a time he listened, but finding that drowsiness was overcoming him, he roused himself with a sudden determination to investigate.

Springing up quietly, Kingdom put on his moccasins and opening a loophole, peeped out. Though still very dark inside the cabin, he could make out princ.i.p.al objects in the clearing, and noted nothing in the least unusual. Suppressing a most sleepy yawn, he decided to creep into his bunk and forget his troubles in restful unconsciousness until broad daylight came.

Very likely the noise which had wakened him was made by one of the horses, the lad thought. He peeped into the stable through a c.h.i.n.k in the wall. Discovering immediately that the door of the lean-to was open, and remembering that he had closed it as usual, he was alarmed at once. He seized his rifle, unbarred the cabin door and rushed out.

As he swung wide the door of the stable, to learn the cause of it not being properly closed, a hand was held out to him and its mate was raised in a sign of silence.

Startled, Kingdom stepped back a pace, but before the other could speak he had recovered himself.

"Fis.h.i.+ng Bird!" he exclaimed. "What in the world are you doing here at such a time as this, Fis.h.i.+ng Bird?"

CHAPTER VII-THE SECRET LEAD MINE

"Listen, White Fox, listen, my Paleface brother," said Fis.h.i.+ng Bird softly as he took Kingdom's hand and drew him gently into the barn; then dropping his voice to a whisper: "Lone-Elk has been here. All night did Fis.h.i.+ng Bird watch and follow him. Then Fis.h.i.+ng Bird hid here for maybe Lone-Elk be coming back when white brother still was sleeping. Morning comes now. No more danger."

How to thank this friendly Indian Ree did not know. As he realized the hards.h.i.+p Fis.h.i.+ng Bird had undergone to guard him from the wily, crafty Seneca, his voice trembled with emotion in trying to express his grat.i.tude. Almost in the same breath he begged further information and an explanation of Lone-Elk's presence; asked to know how, in the darkness, the Delaware had been able to watch him without being himself discovered. Where had Lone-Elk gone? Why had he come at all?

Seated on a little mound of hay, well within the stable yet where he could readily see out, and dividing his attention between the clearing and Kingdom, who sat beside him, Fis.h.i.+ng Bird told his story.

He had feared from the beginning that his warning to the two white boys to flee would be unheeded, he said, and so determined, since he could give them no a.s.sistance, that he would at least keep his eyes on Lone-Elk. The Delawares had accepted the proposal of the Seneca that the death of Big Buffalo be not allowed to break up the Harvest Festival entirely, and so the night of the feast day had been spent in merry-making, as the custom was.

With but little rest the morning after the festival, however, Fis.h.i.+ng Bird went on in his own simple but honest way. Lone-Elk, calling on as many as wished to do so to accompany him, had set out for the house of the Palefaces. It was his purpose first to locate Little Paleface and catch him off his guard, lest by witchcraft he should bring harm to the Indians before they could lay hands on him, Fis.h.i.+ng Bird explained. So all day the Indians had watched the cabin and kept themselves hidden so that they would not easily be seen even if in approaching their home the boys should come upon them suddenly from behind.

Lone-Elk told the Delawares that a crow, which flew down in the cornfield, was almost certainly Little Paleface himself, and as night came on he a.s.sured them that the witch would either be found in the cabin in the natural form of a man or be caught trying to escape in the form of a bird.

Some had asked why the witch would not simply become an animal or a cloud or some such thing and so easily evade them, but the Seneca's only answer to this was a growl at their ignorance and a hint that only children asked such questions.

Much that Fis.h.i.+ng Bird told him was so nearly the same as Kingdom had previously guessed that the information was in no way surprising. But one thing which did surprise and interest him a great deal was the friendly Delaware's account of the escape of John Jerome.

Fis.h.i.+ng Bird, having no belief in Lone-Elk's talk of witchcraft and being anxious to aid in the escape, rather than the capture of the so-called witch, was even more intent in watching all that went on than were any of the others, Lone-Elk excepted. In this way he accounted for his discovery of some object beside the river bank in the darkness as he and two other Delawares were paddling noiselessly toward the cabin-an object which he partially recognized, though none of the others so much as suspected its presence. Solely for the purpose of giving warning he had made sounds which would be heard and which, he was certain, had been heeded.

Ree could only thank his loyal friend again and again and he did not hesitate to tell the faithful fellow that he had almost certainly saved John Jerome from capture. This pleased Fis.h.i.+ng Bird greatly. His pleasure was quite equal to that of a child which is praised for some duty well done.

"In fact," added Kingdom, putting his hand gratefully on the Delaware's arm, "we can never begin to pay you back for all you have done for us. But still you can help us so much more that I want to feel that I can depend on you. I won't ask anything of you which is going to get you into trouble, and if I do, you must tell me. Neither do I want you to do anything or tell me anything which you do not feel that you can willingly do or tell. Is this fair and friendly, Fis.h.i.+ng Bird?"

The Indian thoughtfully nodded.