Tom Fish sat silent and alone, a little apart from all the others, during the whole time. He eyed Big Buffalo sharply when no one save Ree observed him, but the gruesome scalp no longer hung at the Indian's belt.

Fishing Bird was there and seemed especially friendly, though, not being a sub-chief, as was Big Buffalo, he did not pretend to any special dignity, but enjoyed himself in sports with the other young Indians and John.

When at last the Delawares settled down to business, there was a great deal of talk before an agreement was reached, that the boys should have a tract embracing about 200 acres, which the Indians marked off, in exchange for three red blankets and a bolt of blue cloth. It was a rather dear price, John thought, but Ree declared it was a bargain, for they secured just the land they wanted. Moreover, they retained the friendship of the Indians, and even though they should be obliged to pay for the land a second time to the United States government or the State of Connecticut, they could well afford to do so, under these circumstances.

There was general hand-shaking as the Delawares went away, though Tom Fish discreetly disappeared for the time, vowing he would give his hand to "no bloody varmint."

The Indians insisted that the young "Long Knives" (Ree and John) should return their visit the second day following, for a ratification of the bargain they had made. This the boys regretted, as it would probably delay the completion of their cabin; but they were obliged to accept the invitation, and did so.

The next day, Wednesday, however, work on their rude dwelling was resumed, and Tom Fish turned in and helped like a good fellow. A fire-place and chimney had already been built of flat stones from along the margin of the river, and this day, so industriously did all apply themselves, that the roof and door were finished and the cabin practically completed except for the improvements to be added from time to time.

Words can hardly express the boys' pleasure as they built a fire for the first time in the big fire-place and found that their chimney did its work admirably. Without loss of time they at once moved into their new house from the brush shack in which their home had been; and by the cheerful fire light, as the night came on, they placed their things in as orderly a manner as possible, and found themselves quite comfortable, though much remained to be done, the chinking of the walls being the chief task unfinished.

Notwithstanding how the wind crept in at the open cracks until this work should be done, the boys were happy as they cooked and ate their supper in their new home. The ripple and murmur of the river as it splashed on the shore or washed over half-hidden stones, rose to them from the foot of the mound, and was like sweet music in their ears. The wind gently tossed the branches of the trees in harmony with the water's sound, and the howling of wolves far off somewhere in the darkness, made the feeling of security which the stout cabin walls gave all the more pleasing. Their prowling foe had not been about since the first night of their arrival, and they felt entirely safe.

"I guess I'll turn in, then," said John, after trying in vain to brighten up Tom Fish and get him to telling stories; and he was soon asleep on the bed of leaves he had made in a corner.

Ree, having had no chance to read since leaving home, resolved to improve this opportunity. He got his "Pilgrim's Progress" from a chest, and settled himself before the fire.

All the evening Tom had sat in silence beside the big chimney, but soon he leaned over, and placing one big hand on Ree's knee, said in a low voice:

"I've been wantin' to tell ye somethin', Ree; it's about that thar scalp that has upset me so ever since I seen it."



CHAPTER XIII.

The Strange Story of Arthur Bridges.

Putting down his book, Ree looked thoughtfully into Tom's face.

"Of course," said he, "John and I have wondered about that—that matter—but we have considered that you had some reason for not talking of it, or telling us what it meant; and it was really none of our business. But I want to say, Tom, that I would rather you would not tell me anything which I must keep from John. He and I—well, you know how we have always been together, and we have no secrets from each other."

"Bless ye, Ree, lad," exclaimed the old woodsman, "ye kin tell him all ye please of what I'm goin' to tell ye. The only reason I don't talk before him is—he's so full o' fun ye know; and ain't always keerful what he says. I don't keer when we're spinnin' yarns; but this here—it ain't no triflin' thing."

"It's John's way. He would not hurt your feelings for anything, Tom."

The hunter did not answer at once, but buried his face in his hands. Ree could plainly see that some great trouble was on his mind. Presently, however, he raised his head, and with a sigh clasped his hands over his knee.

"Arthur Bridges," he began, "was as fine a young feller as ever the Colonies produced; an' excep' for bein' a little wild, ye wouldn't a' asked to clap yer eyes on a promisin'er chap. It was odd he made up t' me the way he did, me bein' old enough to be his father, a'most, but ye see we was both at Valley Forge together, an' all men was brothers there. We had jist one pair o' shoes betwist us,—Art an' me—an' he wore 'em one day, an' me the next, an' so on. When grub was scant, we shared each with t'other, an' when he got down sick I took keer on him.

"Art tol' me all about himself then, an' it was pitiful. His ol' pap back in Connecticut was as pesky an' ol' Tory as ever did the Continental troops a bad turn; but his mother was loyal as anybody could be. She was born an' bred in this kentry, an' her husband had come from England; that was just the difference betwixt 'em, to start on. The upshot on it was, that Art believed as his mother did, an' it was nat'ral as could be that he should run off an' join General Washington's army. That is what he did anyhow, an' his father swore that he hoped the lad would be killed, though his mother was prayin' for his safety night an' day.

"Once in a long time Art would get some word from home—always from his mother, tellin' him to stick true through thick an' thin an' all would come right by an' by. I guess maybe he believed it would, too; but I didn't ever have much hope on it myself. Bein' a little wild, as ye might say, Art got wilder yet in the army, though there was always a great love for his mother in him. But he got so toward the last that he hated his father—yes, hated him fearful. Then for a long stretch he didn't hear nothin' from home an' didn't see anybody as had heard anything about his folks.

"That's how matters stood when the war was over. He says to me as how he was goin' home, anyhow, an' I tol' him he better do that same. As for me, I was always for rovin' an' I lit out for Kaintucky which we was hearin' was a great place for fightin' an' huntin'. So that's how it come about that Art an' me parted company.

"I was in Kaintucky an' 'round thar for more'n four years; some o' the time with Col. Boone an' some o' the time with other chaps. Then I got to longin' to go back east an' I went. I wasn't thinkin' o' meetin' up with Art Bridges again, as I reckoned on him bein' up in Connecticut all settled down an' married, prob'ly. But who should I meet up with one day but Art himself, lookin' wilder an' more reckless than when I seen him last. He comes up to me and slaps me on the shoulder an' calls me by name a'most before I knowed him. An' it did give me a big surprise to see how he had changed; not so much in looks as in his ways. He was that rough like. After a while he tol' me all about himself, an' I could a jist cried tears for him like a baby.

"He had got started home, he tol' me, after the fightin' was over, an' I don't know but he might a' been pretty near there—I don't just remember—but anyhow, who should he meet up with one day in a tavern, but a cousin o' his who looked so much like him they would 'a passed for twins anywhere. This here cousin's name was Ichabod Nesbit, an' the first thing he did when he saw Art was to shake hands with him like they was at a funeral an' say as how he had some awful bad news to tell him. An' then he went on to tell him as how his mother had died months before, an' his ol' pap was livin' on an' cursin' the Colonies with pretty nigh every breath—an' cursin' his own son. This Nesbit feller told Art, too, as how the ol' man had run through all his property an' was livin' alone an' actin' like a crazy man.

"Waal, Art was for goin' back to see the ol' man anyhow, to see if he couldn't do somethin' to straighten him up some; but this cousin, Ichabod, tol' him as how he hadn't better do it, sayin' as how if he could come home an' bring a fortune, folks would say it was all right; but if he was comin' home with only the clothes on his back, why, he had better stay away; because he couldn't do nothin' with his father anyhow. An' somehow this is jist the way Art was brought to look at it, an' it upset him terrible. For of course the soldiers didn't have no pocket full o' money an' it was pretty true, likewise, as how he didn't have much more'n the clothes on his back, jist as Ichabod said. Pretty blue, an' a' most sick from all his plans o' goin' home bein' spoiled, Art turned back right thar and led a rovin' life for years. He was quick an' sharp, an' picked up a livin', but that was 'bout all for he couldn't settle down no place.

"All this an' a lot more 'bout what he had been doin', Art tol' me there in Philadelphia, an' I was for gettin' him to go back west with me. But no, he wouldn't; an' me bein' no hand to make out around the towns, I jist went back to the frontier an' beyond. I was in Kaintucky an' in this northwest kentry clean to Detroit. I got to know Simon Kenton, the Injun fighter, an' I made some big huntin' an' fightin' trips with him an' other fellers.

"An' so time run along till this last summer a year ago, I takes it into my head one day to go east agin; an' when I had my mind made up there was no stoppin' me. I didn't go to Philadelphia right off, but to New York. I wanted to see the big piles o' furs that come in thar.

"Now it turned out that one day in New York who should I meet up with but Joel Downs who was with us—Art an' me—in the army. We was talkin' away thar, when he asked me did I know what had ever become o' Art Bridges? An' it turned out that he went on to tell me then all 'bout how Art's father was dead, an' his mother left alone, workin' hard to manage the farm, though they was well off, because she wanted Art to have a nice place when he come home. For she wouldn't believe the stories that was told around (by Ichabod Nesbit, I've been thinkin') that Art was dead. So she was waitin' an' waitin' for Art to come an' never knowin' how the poor boy had been lied to by his 'ornery cousin, an' thinkin' he'd come some day.

"Waal, ye kin jist guess how I felt when I heard all this! For I saw through it quicker'n wink that that 'ornery Ichabod was tryin' to make folks think Art was dead, an' schemin' to get hold of the property that would be Art's if he ever come home alive. But I never says a word 'bout this to Joel Downs. Not much! I wasn't goin' to have him goin' back to Connecticut tellin' folks as how Art was leadin' a wild life an' goin' to the dogs.

"No, sir; I jist begun huntin' for Art Bridges. I went to Philadelphia first, an' got some track on him, findin' out as how he had gone off to Kaintucky—lookin' for me, I guess. I went off to Kaintucky too, jist as fast as I could. I got some track on him again, as how he had gone back to Philadelphia, We must 'a passed on the road somewheres. Back to Philadelphia I went again, an' found out as how Art had gone west to Duquesne—Fort Pitt, or Pittsburgh they call it now. So I started for Fort Pitt, an' on the way I met up with you young kittens on your way into this red devils' own kentry.

"An' I come on into this kentry because I found out at Fort Pitt that Art had gone on west intendin' to make his way to Detroit, huntin' an' trappin' an' tradin'. He expected to go on to Detroit next spring an' get a place with a big fur company in charge o' some tradin' post or other, away off somewheres, he didn't keer where—he was jist that sick of the kind o' life he was leadin', an' wanted to get 'way off from everybody.

"But that ain't all! There was a man thar as said Ichabod Nesbit had been seen 'round thar, an' he was lookin' for Art Bridges, too. An' I know that that 'ornery cousin was lookin' for Art to murder him. I felt it in my bones. He wanted to be sure Art was dead an' then he would go back an 'pass himself off as Art Bridges an' have the property anyhow. Then when I heard as how Ichabod had passed himself off as Art in one place, I was sure I was right. But he didn't need to do no murder 'nless it was him as hired the bloody varmints to do it for him," and the hunter's voice grew husky, "for that—that thar scalp—it was Art Bridges'—an' oh, if I had been jist a day sooner! For the blood on it was hardly more'n dry!"

Tom Fish sunk his face in his hands and a convulsive half-sob, half-sigh shook his body from head to foot, as though with ague.

Ree Kingdom drew nearer the sorrow-stricken man and took his big hand in his own.

"Tom," he said, "it is a sad, sad story. I know just what you suffer. But listen, Tom. It is not absolutely certain that the scalp we saw was that of your friend. No man could positively swear to it, just by seeing the color of the hair. And here is another thing I have been wanting to tell you, Tom, but I did not like to interrupt you. I know how Arthur Bridges' mother has been waiting and waiting for him to come. I have heard what she has suffered, for she is a sister of a Mrs. Catesby at whose home I lived and who was like a mother to me. But Mrs. Catesby's husband, who is now dead, was not an agreeable man and the sisters hardly ever saw each other. They lived far apart, but now Mrs. Catesby has moved to town and they will be nearer one another. Mrs. Catesby was so kind to me, Tom, that I would be mean indeed if I would not try to help you find her nephew. But I will help you, and if he is now in this part of the country we will hear of him sooner or later through the Indians."

"No, there is only one thing to do, an' it is for me to do it," Tom Fish replied without looking up. "You can't help, Ree, an' ye'd only get into a row an' spoil all yer own plans. It is fer me to squar' accounts—an' I'll—do it. For I tell, ye, Ree, I ain't mistaken. I'd know that silky dark ha'r of Art Bridges' if I seen it in Jerusalem. Oh, it's too bad—it's too bad!"

Ree could make no answer, and in another minute Tom Fish straightened up and said he would turn in. He told Ree to do the same, and as he lay himself down the boy heard him saying:

"We must all die—all die—an' them that's left can only squar' accounts."

Never before had the land of friends and civilization seemed to Ree to be so far away as it did that night. His busy thoughts kept him awake until nearly morning. He knew what Tom Fish meant when he said he would "squar' accounts." In other words he would make the Delawares pay for Art Bridges' death. There would undoubtedly he trouble which would put an end to their plans for trading and home-making in this new country. They could not fight the redskins one day, and be received as peaceable traders the next.

And on the other hand, if Arthur Bridges, a peaceable trader, had been murdered, might he and John not be in greatest danger of the same fate? Was it not true that the Indians were treacherous and not to be trusted though they seemed friendly? Even if Tom began the fight alone, would not the Indians blame him and John as being friends of his, and attack them?

At last Ree went to sleep, resolving to persuade Tom Fish to await developments. He believed they could find out through Fishing Bird just where and how the bloody trophy which was at the root of their difficulty, had been secured. That might throw great light on the problem.

John was early astir next morning and began preparations for the visit to the Indian town for the council meeting at which the bargain for their land was to be finally confirmed. Ree was strangely silent as he also arose and ate the breakfast which John had ready.

Tom Fish likewise had nothing to say except that he stated that he would remain at the cabin while the boys were away, and might be doing some work at chinking the walls.

It was in the early winter, but the day came out bright and clear. Greatly the boys enjoyed the bright sunshine and the bracing air as they took their way through the woods, crossing the river at last, and following a much used trail which took them toward the Delawares' village. This was a new route to them, but it was the course the Indians traveled and they found it better than the unbroken way they had previously taken in going to the lake beside which Capt. Pipe's people lived. As they walked along Ree told the story of Arthur Bridges as Tom had told it to him, and earnestly they discussed their situation.

In three hours the boys came to the Indian town, and Capt. Pipe called a council to settle the bargain for the land. There was speech making as before, but less of it, and then came a feast. But this too, was less formal than before. The Indians seemed about to go on a hunting expedition and had less time for other matters.

The Delawares promised to do much trading with the young Palefaces, and the boys would have considered their prospects very bright had it not been for the likelihood of trouble arising through Tom Fish's desire for revenge.

The little information Ree secured from Fishing Bird was not at all re-assuring, either. That agreeable, but none the less wily, savage would give him no satisfaction when he questioned him concerning the bloody trophy Big Buffalo had had, declaring, indeed, that no white man had been killed by the Delawares for a very long time.

The boys started on their homeward way in time to arrive before dark, and reached the clearing just after sundown. With a hop, step and jump John ran forward and up the ascent, to the door.

"Why, where is Tom?" he called as he entered. "The fire is out and there is no sign of him anywhere. He said he would stay here all day."



CHAPTER XIV.

Treed by Wolves.

The disappearance of Tom Fish caused both boys considerable uneasiness. They at first thought that he might return during the evening, though the fact that the fire had gone out, indicated that he had left the cabin early in the day. As they crept into their rough but comfortable bunks, however, and no sign of his coming had been heard, the lads realized the strong probability that the woodsman had set out by himself to avenge the death of Arthur Bridges, and that he had intended going when he told Ree the strange story of that young man, the night before.

What the consequences of Tom's undertaking might be, afforded grave cause for alarm. By reason of his having been looked upon as a member of their party, the Indians would consider the boys equally guilty in any offense which he might give.

"We will have to make the best of it, though and if it comes to fighting, we will fight like Trojans," said Ree, with some cheerfulness as he saw that John was quite depressed. "But our best plan will be to say nothing to Capt. Pipe's people about Tom. It may be that he left us on purpose to avoid getting us into trouble."

John agreed to this way of reasoning, hoping as Ree did, that it would be only a few days until they would see Tom and learn what his plans were. But time passed rapidly and nothing was seen or heard of the missing man. Had Tom been anything but a skilled woodsman the lads might probably have worried for his safety. As it was, that phase of the situation was scarcely thought of.

By working early and late, thawing the frozen clay beside their fire, when the weather was cold, that they might quickly get all the cracks in the cabin walls closed up, the boys accomplished a great deal in a week's time. Several times little parties of Indians came to trade with them, but the savages never mentioned Tom Fish's name. Big Buffalo came once and appeared more hateful than ever, suggesting the unpleasant thought that perhaps he knew more concerning the absent man than he would have been willing to tell.

The Delawares were not the only Indians who passed along the river and stopped to exchange skins for cloth, knives, beads or other articles. The Wyandots, Chippewas and Senecas had villages to the west and north and were coming or going quite frequently. Sometimes wandering Mingoes came along, and for them it may be said that they were more disposed to make trouble than any of the others. The reason probably lay in the fact that they were still to some extent influenced by British traders who retained feelings of hostility toward the colonies, and used their influence to secretly cause Indian disturbances along the borders.

At no great distance from the cabin was the Portage trail referred to in the previous chapter as passing near the Delaware town. This path was much used by all the Indians in traveling between the Great Lakes and the Ohio river, as it was the only stretch of land they must cross in making all the remainder of the journey by water. Thus they willingly carried their canoes over eight miles or so of land from the Cuyahoga to the Tuscarawas river, or vice versa, for the sake of paddling on their way with ease and rapidity the rest of the way, either north or south.

Thus, as their visitors were many, the loft the boys had built in their cabin came to contain a richer and richer store, as they placed there the furs they secured. Sitting before the fire at night they would sometimes estimate their probable profits, and as they discussed this and other subjects, the lads never forgot that their safety was the very first thing with which they must reckon. In this connection they were glad when they learned that Big Buffalo had gone away on a hunting trip with a large party of Delawares and would probably not return until spring.

There was another subject which was sometimes spoken of—the fact that the prowling enemy who had killed their horse had not for a long time given any sign of being in the vicinity. Out of these talks grew a theory that, perhaps, that secret foe was Big Pete Ellis, and that having killed old Jerry he had at last decided that his revenge was complete.

Their health, too, was a matter for daily thought with the boys, and remembering that they must be careful to guard against needless exposure, but both being hardy and robust, they were little troubled.

So the time passed and all promised well. They contrived many traps for the capture of fur-bearing animals, and to catch turkeys and other game for food. Chief of their traps was the dead-fall, made by propping up one end of a short piece of puncheon or hewed plank, in such a way that it would fall upon the animal which attempted to secure the bait placed on a trigger beneath it. This trigger was a part of the prop under the puncheon and gave way at the slightest jar. As the plank fell it caught the creature which had disturbed it, and being weighted down with stones, held its victim fast.

Wolf pens were also made and very successfully used. These were built of small logs on the same principle as a box trap, having a very heavy lid which fell, shutting inside any animal which entered and attempted to eat the bait placed on the spindle, which at the least pull, gave way, letting the lid fall.

The turkey traps were made in the Indian fashion. A small, low enclosure was built with sticks, a small opening or door being made close to the ground. The pen was then covered with brush except for a passage way leading to the door, and along this path beechnuts or other bait, were scattered, the trail of nuts extending into the enclosure. A turkey finding the food would follow it, its head near the ground, enter the pen, and having eaten all it could find, would raise its head and so be unable to see its way out.

The boys did not have so much time for hunting as they had planned upon, and yet scarcely a day passed but one of them sallied forth, nearly always coming home with valued furs or meat for their table. They found it advisable that one should remain near the cabin, both for its protection from Indians who might steal, and to trade with those who passed. Thus, while Ree would be spending a day with his axe clearing the land near their home, John would be miles away, perhaps, rifle in hand, eyes and ears alert.

The next day, perhaps, Ree would have his turn at hunting. Every day, too, they visited their traps to secure any creatures which had been captured and to reset the snares or change their location. Wood for the fire must be gathered, also, and it was wonderful how great a quantity of fuel the big fire-place consumed; and pine knots from the rocky ravine farther up the river, or hickory bark from the hillsides in the opposite direction, must be secured every few days to afford light for the evenings. There were also furs to be cured, and much else to be done, all uniting to make the short winter days very busy ones, and to keep the long winter evenings from being tedious.

Night was the favorite time for baking and for the preparation of such dishes as they thought they would most enjoy. Many were the feasts the young friends had, though their stock of supplies included little besides meal and fresh meat. At first they had occasionally secured beans and squashes from the Indians, but the improvident savages soon exhausted their supplies and were themselves dependent on corn and game.

December had gone and January was well under way when there came a great snow storm, which, at the end of a week left drifts piled high in all directions. The snow was soft and light but so deep that it was well nigh impossible for one to make his way through it, and Ree and John quickly agreed to occupy themselves with work in and near the cabin. They set about adding new conveniences to their home, such as shelves and cupboards, pegs, etc. They hewed and whittled out long, thin hickory slats, which they placed lengthwise on the rough bedstead they had built in one corner, and found them so springy and comfortable to sleep upon, when a couple of skins and a blanket had been spread over them, that they were sorry they had not sooner thought of this improvement.

John made a broom of hickory splints which did its work to perfection, and Ree sharpened up his knife and carved from a whitewood block several plates and trays to add to their meager collection of dishes. Both boys improved the opportunity also, while shut in, to give their wardrobes attention, making themselves stout moccasins, coon-skin caps and buckskin breeches.

Ree found time during many evenings to read again and again the few books he had. John was less given to reading, but with much care and diligence he managed to make a fife by boring a maple stick through from end to end with a thin piece of iron from their cart, much of which had been carried piece-meal to the cabin. Having natural musical talent, he learned to play the instrument he thus fashioned, and though Ree had declared, as he practiced, that he would surely bring the savages down upon them in war paint, he liked the music as well as its maker.

So, for a fortnight the boys were scarcely out of sight of the cabin. The weather was bitter cold much of that time and no Indians came near. There at last came a day, however, when the wind blew steadily from the southwest, bringing with it at night a cold rain. Changing to the north, the wind turned the rain to sleet, followed by cold weather again.

"We must have snow-shoes," said Ree, when he saw what was taking place, and the third day the boys ventured forth on such contrivances as they had made and did finely with them on the thick, slippery crust which had formed. Taking their rifles, they made their way through the river valley, which, farther up the stream, became quite narrow, steep, rocky banks rising on both sides to a height of fifty feet or more. No sooner had they entered this canyon than they found evidences of deer and other animals having taken shelter there.

Going quietly forward, the lads discovered four of the timid, beautiful creatures huddled together. They went quite near before the deer leaped away through the frozen snow, and Ree quickly brought one down. John did better—or worse—killing one and wounding another. They secured the skins and choice parts of the meat and hanging these in a tree for safety, pushed on after the two which had escaped. They especially desired to capture the doe which had been wounded, not so much for its value, but because Ree insisted that it would be downright cruelty to let the poor creature suffer from its injury for days, perhaps, then die at last.

But the young hunters traveled far before again coming upon the animals they sought. The trail took them out of the narrow valley or canyon, and a long distance through the woods to a locality they had never before visited, where the earth was cut by deep ravines, zig-zagging in nearly all directions, and great rocks often obstructing the way. Here the trail of the deer they were following was lost amid the tracks of others which had gone into the deep rugged gullies to escape the stinging wind.

"We may as well give it up, Ree," said John, as they sat down to rest.

"Oh no, we mustn't give up," Ree answered, "but I'll tell you what we'd better do. It is more than likely the Indians will be out in snow shoes the same as we are, and they may want to swap some dollar furs for penny knick-knacks this afternoon. One of us should be at the cabin."

"I'll go," John willingly responded, for he liked to trade with the Indians, and could make much better bargains than Ree; not but what he was honest, but because Ree was so generous that he was often imposed upon.

"Will you stop for the venison we left in the tree?" Ree asked.

"I think I'd better; there is no knowing where you will be when you find that wounded deer! But don't stay out all night!"

With this sally John started homeward, and Ree resumed his search for blood-stains in the snow which would show him the trail he sought. Going about among the rocks he discovered an opening about half the size of a door which seemed to lead straight back into a rocky cliff.

"Some sort of a cave," he mused, inspecting it more closely and looking into it. He saw nothing, and, stooping down, ventured in a little way. His eyes accustomed to the bright light of the snow, he was unable to see anything in the darkness, or he might not have been so bold; for the next moment a chorus of fierce growls caused him to retreat.

"Bears, or wolves—bears, most likely," said Ree to himself. "At least if they are wolves there should be tracks about the mouth of the cave. I must remember this place."

Having first looked about to make sure of the exact location of the cavern, and resolving to explore it at some future time, the youthful hunter hurried on. Under a clump of low pines he presently discovered a herd of seven deer. One lagged behind, as they fled at his approach, and Ree knew at once that it must be the wounded animal. He followed at the best pace possible, but the deer was soon lost sight of, though the poor thing had a difficult time of it to make any progress through the crusted snow.

However, Ree kept to the trail for he was sure the doe could not go far; yet hour after hour passed and he saw no hope of accomplishing his purpose. Had it not been that the deer was traversing a circle, the trail now taking him in the direction of the cabin, he would have been obliged to give up the pursuit. But now he passed through the ravine where the deer had been wounded and up a steep slope towards home. By this time the sun was going down, and from not far ahead of him Ree heard the howling of wolves. If he could have looked but a little way into the future, he would have taken the shortest route to the cabin.

However, wolves had never given much trouble and Ree had no thought of being afraid, though the howling sounded nearer and nearer as he continued on. Soon, however, he guessed what had happened. The wounded deer, unable to escape, had been killed by the fierce dogs of the wilderness which were now devouring it. And in another minute the boy saw them at their awful feast. With anger and foolhardy courage he sprang directly among the struggling beasts, clubbing them with his rifle.

Mad with starvation and the taste of fresh blood, one big wolf leaped toward the courageous boy and others followed. He was barely able to hold them at bay while he backed away toward a tree, swinging his rifle right and left with desperate energy as he went. Closer and closer still the wolves pressed him, snapping, snarling, howling—their long sharp teeth and red throats being so near that he could almost feel their hot breath on his face. But he reached the tree—a beech, one of whose lower limbs was almost within reach. He leaped upward to seize it, but as he did so his rifle caught on a bush and was jerked from his hand. A great gray foamy-jawed creature snapped closely at his heels and by a hair's breadth he escaped, as he drew himself quickly upward.

Howling like enraged demons the wolves gathered about the tree. They seemed to know that sooner or later they would drink human blood. Ree thought of this. His only weapon was the knife Capt. Bowen had given him, which he always carried. But his active brain was busy and he determined to take a desperate chance in an effort to secure his rifle.



CHAPTER XV.

A Maple Sugar Camp in the Wilderness.

Selecting a stout limb for his purpose, Ree set to work to cut and trim it, making a short, heavy club. He believed that if he should jump suddenly down among the wolves, their surprise would be so great as to keep them away for perhaps a second—long enough to permit him to seize his rifle, and again fight his way into the tree. As he trimmed the thick branch, however, an increasing danger presented itself. The unusual howling of the pack and the scent of blood were attracting other wolves to the spot. Before his club was ready, he had counted seven newcomers galloping through the snow to join their blood-thirsty brothers.

To put his life in peril by jumping down among so many of the fierce creatures was to run a greater risk than Ree thought wise; but his fertile brain presented a new plan. He partially split one end of his club and securely bound the handle of the knife in the opening thus made, with strips of buckskin cut from his clothing. In this way he made a strong but cumbersome spear, and holding to the lowest branch of the tree, he leaned far down and stabbed and slashed at every wolf within reach.

Several were wounded and their yelps of pain and rage were added to the hideous, hungry cries of the others. Again and again the bold boy cut and thrust as the wolves kept coming within his reach. The snow was dyed with blood. For half an hour the battle was carried on.

At last by a lucky stroke Ree gave one of the howling mass beneath him so deep a cut across the neck, that it sprang but a few yards away and fell dead, its head half cut off. At once the others pounced upon the wolf's body, tearing it to pieces, scrambling and fighting in a most horrible manner.

Now was Ree's chance. He leaped quickly to the ground and seized his blood-stained rifle; in another moment he would have been safe. But he was so chilled—so stiff from the cold, that he missed his hold when first he sprang to catch the lowest branch, and before he could try again, a monstrous gray wolf dashed toward him. With a hungry howl, its jaws dripping blood, it launched itself through the air, straight for Ree's throat.

With wonderful nerve the boy stood his ground. He did not falter, nor hesitate. He met the hot-mouthed, vicious brute, his rude spear clasped in both hands, and drove the blade deep in its shaggy shoulder. With an almost human shriek and ferocity the wolf sprang sidewise under the impulse of the steel's sharp thrust, and the spear quivering in its flesh, was jerked from the boys' hands.

Ree's first impulse was to run in pursuit, as the wolf dashed into the woods, to recover his knife; but in an instant the whole pack was upon him again, having made short work of their cannibal-like feast, and only by the greatest dexterity was he able again to seize his rifle and climb to safety, ere they reached him.

"Now some of you will smart!" the half-frozen boy exclaimed, and he clenched his teeth in righteous anger. Shot after shot he poured into the blood-thirsty brutes, and watched with horror as those remaining alive pounced upon the dying ones. Four wolves he killed and two he wounded, then sat still awhile to catch his breath and scrutinize the dozen animals remaining, to see whether the one in whose body his knife had been carried off, was there. He did not see it, though the twilight gloom was now dispelled by bright moonlight. So, soon he resumed the terrible execution he had wrought among the pack, and was firing as fast as he could load, when he heard John's familiar whistle.

"Watch out, John! There are still eight of the fiercest wolves you ever saw here!" he called in warning, but almost simultaneously his chum's rifle sounded, and but seven wolves remained. Another and another went down to death and the five which were left, taking fright at last, sped away among the timber, howling dismally.

"You had me scared into fits, almost," John cried, as Ree climbed down. "Why, how cold you are!" he exclaimed, grasping his friend's hand. "And your teeth are chattering! How did it happen any way? Come along home!"

"I'll tell you about it; but we'd better skin the wolves that have not been half eaten, first. Bloody as a battle field, isn't it?"

"Skin nothing! Come along! It is most terribly cold and you are half frozen. We can get the skins in the morning if there is any thing left of them."

For once Ree yielded and when he had recovered his snow-shoes John marched him off at a pace which soon put his blood in circulation.

If ever the young pioneers appreciated the rude comforts of their cabin, they did that night. It was sweet to feel snug and warm and safe, as Ree told the story of his adventure more fully than at first; to stretch their weary legs toward the crackling fire and lean back in the fur covered seat they had constructed. It was pleasant to eat a lunch of nuts secured from the Indians, and venison steaks cut thin and broiled crisp. It was comfortable to creep into bed and lie awake and talk of their plans; of their friends in far away Connecticut; of incidents of their trip; of the strange absence of Tom Fish; of the sad story of Arthur Bridges—of many, many things.

And it was pleasant to watch with half closed eyes, the firelight dancing on the rough cabin walls, shining in the little looking glass near the door, showing the rifles within easy reach in the corner near the bed; the two sets of pistols in their hostlers on the table they had made; the gleaming blades of their axes, beside the fire-place; the books Ree loved so well, arranged on a board from the old cart, which did duty as a mantel, and John's fife beside them; the frying-pan and their few dishes on and in a little cupboard in the corner. It was sweet, too, to fall asleep at last and dream of the present, past and future—enjoying the perfect rest which the fatigue of honest, hard work by those possessed of honest hearts must ever bring.

The boys were very tired this night, partly from the unusual exercise of walking so far on snow-shoes, no doubt. But they slept soundly and were early awake. Directly after breakfast they visited the scene of the fight with the wolves. They little expected to find anything left of their victims, excepting bones, but they greatly desired to find the knife which had been Capt. Bowen's present.

Bones they did find—but nothing else. There was every evidence of a ghastly feast having been eaten by the wolves and other animals during the night. Even the skeletons of those which had been slaughtered, were torn to pieces, and for rods around the snow was dyed crimson.

To cry over spilled milk was no part of Ree's disposition, and though he deeply regretted the loss of his knife, he did not allow himself to be dispirited, though little he thought how important a part in their adventures the knife was yet to play.

In their walks about the woods at different times, Ree and John had observed that there were many sugar maples near their cabin and had agreed that they must make some sugar when spring came. That very afternoon, therefore, they began preparations.

Blocks of wood, cut into lengths of about two feet, they hollowed out with their axes, making troughs in which to catch the sap of maples. The work was tedious and many a trough was split and spoiled when all but completed, before they caught the knack of avoiding this by striking curved strokes with their axes, and not letting the blades cut in deeply, in line with the grain of the wood.

This work, and the making of spouts by punching the pith out of sumac branches occupied several days. Not all their time could be given to it, however, as traps must be visited and Indians given attention; for now that the weather was becoming warm the savages came frequently, often with many furs secured during winter hunting expeditions.

"We have made a pretty good living and a nice sum of money for each of us, when our furs shall have been marketed, and have also made ourselves a home," said Ree one day, as they were estimating the probable value of their stores. "After deducting for all losses, we will still have done splendidly if we are fortunate in getting the skins to Pittsburg or Detroit and working a fair bargain with the buyers."

"We better get a good canoe Ree, and learn to use it; then we can take the furs from here to Detroit by water, traveling along the shore of Lake Erie," John suggested. "Capt. Pipe has a couple of fine, big canoes of his own, buried for the winter. I believe he would sell us one."

"We will go and have a talk with him about it soon," Ree answered. But it was not for many days that the lads found time to do this.

Fine weather came sooner than they expected. The spring of 1791 was one of the earliest known to the section which is now Northern Ohio. Even in February the sun came out bright and warm and the cold winds disappeared.

John and Ree awoke one morning after a rainy night to find the water high in the river, the ice gone and the air as mild as on a day in May.

"Hooray! I've a mind to take a swim!" John shouted, looking with enthusiasm at the high water.

"I wish we had our canoe now," Ree joined in; "but I'll tell you, old chap, we must get our maples tapped, if we are to get any sugar."

John turned away from watching the swift, deep current with a sigh. Somehow he did not feel like working; but under Ree's influence he soon forgot his "spring fever" feeling, and with a small auger bored holes in the trees. Into these holes Ree drove the spouts, placing a trough beneath each one, to catch the sap which at once began to flow.

As all the trees were near the cabin the boys might have carried the sap to their fire-place for boiling, but as this would necessitate the carrying of a great deal of wood, they hung their largest kettle on a pole laid across two forked sticks driven in the ground for that purpose, just at the top of the hill near the edge of the clearing.

By noon enough sap was collected in the troughs to make it necessary to begin the boiling, and from then on through all that day and the next, one of the boys was constantly busy, keeping the fire blazing hot and gathering sap to keep the kettle well filled, as the water was boiled away, leaving only its sweetness. At last they added no fresh sap but allowed the syrup in the kettle to boil down thicker and thicker making in the end, most delicious molasses.

The boys finished the boiling in the cabin that night, and when the syrup had become thick enough, they were able by stirring and cooling it, to make an excellent quality of sugar. And it had been so long since either of them had tasted sweets, that the maple's fine product was indeed a treat. The prospect that they would be able to make enough sugar to last them until another spring, was highly agreeable, and they were willing enough to work hard during many days which followed.

One regret the boys had, was that they possessed but two kettles, neither of which was very large; but they boiled sap in both and found that by greasing the upper edges of the vessels that they could keep them quite full and still the sap would not boil over.

They also tried the very primitive method used by the Indians before they had kettles in which to make sugar. Several large, nearly round stones were washed clean, then heated very hot in the fire. With improvised tongs they were then lifted into a large keg of cold sap. As this operation was constantly repeated, the sap was heated and slowly evaporated.

The process proved so very slow and laborious, however, that the boys soon abandoned it. But while the experiment was being tried, something occurred which made John laugh until he held his sides. The keg of sap had been heated to almost a boiling point, and putting a couple of large, hot stones in it both boys left the camp, John to gather more sap and Ree to chop some wood.

As John was returning, he discovered a young bear prowling about the camp. The animal evidently had not been long out of its winter quarters and was hungry. It sniffed the sweet odor which came from the evaporating maple water, and ambled up to the keg.

Quietly John ran and called Ree, and they both hurried softly back just as the bear put its nose deep into the hot sap. A squeal of pain followed, and the poor cub nearly turned a backward somersault, with such sudden energy did it take its nose out of the keg. Wild with the smarting burns the creature rushed blindly about, almost burying its head in the cool leaves and earth, and missing its footing, somehow, as it approached a steep part of the hill, fell and rolled to the bottom, squealing and growling woefully. Before John could check his laughter, the bear had picked itself up and trotted swiftly away, and Ree was willing to let it go unharmed, though he could have shot it.

This incident set the boys to thinking. Bruin evidently knew the smell of honey better than of sap. All bears delight in sweet things, and Ree said he had no doubt there were bee trees in the neighborhood. At any rate, the lads decided, it would be well worth while to be on the lookout for them as they were about the woods during the spring and summer.

Continued fine weather put an end to the maple season. In a fortnight the buds began to open on the trees and the flow of sap ceased. About this time, too, the Portage trail, not far away, was constantly traversed by redskins, many of them strangers, and there were daily calls at the cabin of the young Palefaces. So there was much to do; the spring crops must be planted, the pile of furs must be taken to market and fences must be completed to keep deer and other animals out of the cornfield they proposed having.

There was another thing needing early attention, and that was the securing of land at the junction of the Portage trail and the river. For the boys could not but see how advantageous that place would be as a trading point, and they wished to build a new and larger cabin there. Moreover, as the country was opened up and settled, the land about so favorable a site for a town would probably become very valuable.

"We will go to see Capt. Pipe to-morrow, and bargain with him for a canoe, and for some land where the trail and the river meet," said Ree one warm March night as they sat on the doorstep of their cabin, in the moonlight.



CHAPTER XVI.

The Hatred of Big Buffalo.

The last of the sap had been reduced to sugar and made into a fine solid cake weighing nearly two pounds, the night that the foregoing conversation took place. With this as a present to the chief of the Delawares, Ree and John set out early the following morning for Capt. Pipe's town on the lake.

It was a beautiful day. The red buds on the trees were bursting into green, in places, and in many sunny spots the spring plants and flowers were shooting forth. All nature seemed to feel the same joy and freedom the young pioneers felt as they journeyed through the valley and over the hills toward their destination. Birds were singing on every hand. Crows were flying here and there and calling lustily to one another from all directions.

Once a young deer bounded toward the boys, then, after standing for a moment, gazing with great, timid, bright eyes, wheeled and was away again, springing over bushes and logs with a showy vigor as though it were out only for a spring frolic. A wild turkey hen, wandering about in search of a place for nesting, scampered softly out of sight as it caught sight of the lads. A big woodchuck, fat and lazy, even after its all-winter nap, circled around a tree, to whose trunk it was clinging, thinking, perhaps, that it was always keeping just out of sight of the human intruders upon its forest home, though it was badly fooled if such were its opinion. A dozen times either boy could have shot it had he been so disposed.

A myriad of ducks flew noisily from a stream near the lake in which they were feeding as John threw a stone among them. He and Ree could have killed a score of the wild fowls had they wished to do so, but they were in no mood for it. They had not set out to hunt, and moreover, the fresh, balmy air and invigorating sunlight, together with the delightful odors of the spring-time, put upon them both a spell—a joy in living which made it seem inhuman to harm any living creature that day.

This sense of gladness, of friendship with every thing the woods contained, did not, however, prevent the boys from laying plans for the capture of certain denizens of the forest's waters—the fish. They had already noticed that the lake beside which the Delawares lived, also other lakes not far away, and their own river, contained great numbers of the finny tribe, but they had been too busy with other things to try their hands at fishing. The opportunity for this fine sport, however, caused them to deeply regret that they had brought nothing in the line of fishing tackle with them.

"The Indians will surely have hooks, and spears, though," John suggested.

"If they haven't, we can make nets and spears too; I shouldn't be surprised if we could contrive hooks as well," Ree answered.

"I wish we had a big mess of fish for dinner!" John exclaimed. "I'm hungry as a bear."

His wish was realized sooner than he expected. As was their custom, the Indians at once placed food before their visitors, and the fare was just what John had wanted. There was one objection—the savages cooked the fish without cutting off the heads, but the boys did this for themselves. That they could not be over-particular in the wilderness, they had long since discovered.

They learned that the Delawares had caught the fish with hooks made of bones—evidently small wish-bones, and readily saw how they could make just such hooks for themselves.

Capt. Pipe himself had received the boys, and it was in his lodge that they were eating. He sat nearby gravely smoking his pipe, seldom speaking except when spoken to. Gentle Maiden, the chief's comely daughter, was sitting in a pleasant, sunny place just outside the bark hut, sewing with a coarse bone needle, on some sort of a frock, the cloth for which was from the bolt her father had secured from the young traders.

"Pretty as a picture, isn't she?" John whispered, glancing toward the Indian girl. "Honestly, I never saw a white person more beautiful."

Ree made no reply, for at that moment Big Buffalo put his head into the lodge. The boys had not seen him since early winter and both arose to greet him; but he ignored their action, and pausing only a second, strode haughtily away.

"What does that mean?" John asked in surprise.

"Has the Big Buffalo cause to be unfriendly?" inquired Ree of Capt. Pipe, wishing to call the chief's attention to the Indian's apparent hostility.

"Buffalo heap big fool," Capt. Pipe grunted, and then in the Delaware tongue he spoke to his daughter, and she arose and took a seat inside the lodge, behind her father.

This incident filled Ree with misgiving though he was not sure enough that he had cause for such feeling to mention it at that time. John was differently impressed.

"Why," he exclaimed, "Big Buffalo is on a mighty high horse to-day! He acts like a child that has been told it must wait till second table at a dinner! I wonder if there is any love lost between him and the Gentle Maiden?" he added in a whisper.

Ree did not answer, but now that they had finished dinner, signified their wish to talk to Capt. Pipe about buying a canoe.

The chief said he would make a trade with them and asked what the boys had to give. In return they asked to see the craft he proposed swapping, and were then conducted to a hillside where a canoe had but recently been dug out of the dry muck and earth in which it was buried over winter to save it from drying, cracking or warping.

Ree and John examined the frail boat of bitter-nut hickory bark, with much interest. It was about eleven feet in length, well constructed, and water-tight. With it were a couple of light, nicely carved paddles.

John promptly pronounced the canoe a "regular macaroni" and laid down a pair of brass buckles, signifying that he would give them for the skiff.

Capt. Pipe gravely shook his head.

"I'll add this," said Ree, and laid down a brand new hunting knife, having a leather sheath.

The chief again shook his head, and a large number of Indians, who had been lazily basking in the sun or idly paddling about the lake, and were now gathered around to see the trade, also shook their heads.

"The thing isn't worth as much as we have offered," cried John, good humoredly, "but I'll put in this," and he produced a large yellow silk handkerchief, shaking it out, and holding it up to view in an attractive manner.

Still Capt. Pipe shook his head and all his braves did the same, though their eyes glistened.

Ree hesitated before adding more to their offer and while he did so, John picked up the handkerchief and with no thought but to display it to good advantage, turned to Gentle Maiden, who stood at her father's side. With a quiet sweep of his hand he draped the bright cloth over the girl's shoulder and arm.

The next instant a stinging blow struck him in the face and he staggered, nearly falling. It was Big Buffalo's fist that had shot out at him.

John sprang toward the burly Indian and they grappled in a terrible struggle. All had taken place so quickly that before Ree could reach John's side, his friend's throat was in the redman's grasp and the breath squeezed nearly out of him. Capt. Pipe also rushed in, and amid the yells of the Indians, the chief and Ree soon separated the combatants.

The incident created so much excitement that the young Palefaces scarcely knew what to do. But Ree's firm voice and quiet dignity, as he told the chief that his friend had meant no offense, and should not have been assaulted, had a quieting influence on the savages, and although John could scarcely refrain from speaking the angry words he thought, he did manage to hold his tongue, and Capt. Pipe soon restored order.

Big Buffalo slunk away like a whipped dog, as the chief berated him, and the boys saw no more of him that day. How much better it would have been had they never seen him again!

The bargain for the canoe was completed by Ree adding a second handkerchief to their offer, as much as a peace offering as anything, and then as it was growing late, and the disturbance had made the question of buying more land a dangerous one to be brought up, at that time, the boys departed. They shook hands with Capt. Pipe and the braves standing near, and Fishing Bird went with them as they carried their canoe down to the water and launched it.

While pretending to show the lads about handling the canoe, this friendly Indian warned them to watch out for Big Buffalo; that he supposed them to be admirers of Gentle Maiden, with whom he was in love, and would kill them if he got a chance. Moreover, that he had set out to kill them when they first arrived and would have done so but through fear of Capt. Pipe with whom they had made peace.

The information Fishing Bird imparted, with the exception of the latter part, was no news to the boys; but it was so disquieting that instead of paddling about the lake until evening, as they had intended, they crossed the water, carried their canoe overland to the river, and went directly home.

John was very blue over what had occurred, blaming himself for having caused the trouble. Ree was not so much depressed. His nature was not one of extremes; he was never hilariously merry, never completely dejected.

"It was no more your fault than my own, John," said he, as they talked of Big Buffalo's display of malice. "You meant no harm, and if the ugly fellow had not hated us to start with, he would not have taken offense so easily. We may have some trouble with him, and again we may not. Capt. Pipe will be on our side, I'm sure, for you heard what the chief said about the rascal. The fact is, that in spite of all the stories we have heard about Capt. Pipe and his cruelty, he has certainly been friendly with us, and honest."

By talking in this way Ree restored John to a happier mood, and they were both quite jolly again as they prepared and ate their supper. They looked forward to many happy days in their canoe on the lake and river, and John proposed to rig up a sail with the canvas which had been over their cart, and by doing so to give the Indians quite a surprise.

That evening the boys turned their attention to making spears for fishing. They used some seasoned hickory which Ree had put in the loft during the winter for the making of bows, and were able to whittle stout, sharp prongs out of that hard, tough wood. It was too late when the task was completed, however, to try the spears that night, but the boys went to bed promising themselves good sport the next evening.

Although it was still the month of March, the early spring of that year enabled the young pioneers to begin at once active preparations for planting corn, potatoes, beans and squashes. The brush cut during the winter was so dry that it burned readily, and the green brush was easily disposed of also, when piled upon the hot fires the dry wood made. In this way the natural clearing was soon rid of the scattered undergrowth upon it.

In a week or two the boys were ready to put the seed into the ground, digging up a space a foot square wherever they planted a hill of beans, corn, potatoes or squashes. It was slow work, nevertheless, and the sturdy, youthful farmers were obliged to toil early and late.

The coming of Indians frequently interrupted the boys at their work, and they came at last to continue their labor after greeting their visitors, unless the latter wished to trade. This the redmen liked none too well. They seemed to think their Paleface neighbors were devoting too much time to agricultural pursuits, and they feared and hated any and all things which threatened to turn their forests into farm lands. But Ree and John agreed that, since they had bought the land of the Indians, they might as well give the former owners to understand, first and last, that they meant to do with it as they liked.

Big Buffalo was among a party which stopped at the cabin one day. He refused food and made himself generally disagreeable. The boys, however, ignored his ill humor and by paying no attention to him, showed that they neither cared for his hatred nor feared him, even though they knew there was murder in his heart.

Frequently strange Indians were among those who called and they asked the boys to visit their towns, some of which were not many miles away, to trade. As all of those Indians traversed the Portage trail or path, the boys were reminded almost daily of the desirability of securing land for a trading post, at the junction of the trail and the river. As they talked the matter over and looked into the future, more and more did they regret that the violent conduct of Big Buffalo had prevented their prolonging their bargaining with Capt. Pipe on the occasion of their last visit to him.

About this time, also, another reason arose for the two friends wishing to visit Capt. Pipe again. It was the discovery that he had secured some horses. During the winter he had had none of which the boys knew. Now, they reasoned, if they could buy a horse, they would rig up their cart and carry their furs to Pittsburg. It would be a much shorter and safer trip than to undertake to reach Detroit, and they would require no assistance. There was some probability, too, that among their friends in Pittsburg they might get some word concerning Tom Fish.

It was one night when they had returned from fishing, bringing in a great string of rock bass, that the lads talked this over, and at last concluded to go again to the Delaware town, even at the risk of having more trouble with Big Buffalo.

It seemed like a holiday after their hard work when, next day, the boys found themselves in their canoe, gliding over the river's rippling waters on their way to Capt. Pipe's home. They carried the craft overland to the lake and soon approached the Indian village.

But suddenly as they drew near, the noise of many voices was borne to them by the breeze. First loud, then low, the sounds came across the water. Ree's face grew grave, and John, who had been whistling, abruptly paused.

"Ree," he exclaimed, "that is the song of the war dance!"

"It means that the Indians are going on the warpath, as surely as we hear it," was the answer. "Be on your guard, John. We will soon find out just what it means; for we won't turn back now, even if we see the whole tribe in war paint."



CHAPTER XVII.

Danger.

As Ree spoke, a war whoop sounded clear and strong, instantly followed by a weird, chanting song. In a minute or two this ceased, and then with fiercer war whoops than before, broke out afresh. Quickly the young pioneers floated nearer the scene of these warlike outbursts, and soon ran the nose of their canoe upon the gravelly beach. With fast-beating hearts they climbed the little bank which rose gradually a few feet back from the shore.

The boys had approached so quietly, and the Indians were so intent on the war dance that their coming had not been discovered. And well might the lads pause in uncertainty as to the manner of the reception they would receive; for now they came into full view of the assembled savages—half-naked warriors in paint and fighting costume, forming a circle and dancing and yelling like the wild barbarians they were, while old men and young braves and squaws and children looked on in savage rapture. Before either boy could speak Big Buffalo espied them and leaped forward brandishing a tomahawk.

Instinctively Ree seized his rifle in both hands, ready for instant action. John did the same, and with an ugly leer the Indian paused. His action had attracted attention, however, and at this critical juncture Capt. Pipe discovered the presence of the visitors, and called angrily to Buffalo to put up his weapon.

The chief was in full war costume himself, making anything but a peaceable appearance as he met the boys half way, when they obeyed his signal to approach. But without a word he conducted them to a place in the circle of spectators gathered around the forty or fifty warriors, and at once the dance went on as though there had been no interruption.

With terrible gestures of their arms and throwing their bodies into all sorts of warlike attitudes, the Indians danced about in a circle, striking their feet down with great force as they kept time to the beating of two rude drums and the uncanny song they sang. With a war whoop a dance was begun and continued for about two minutes, the outlandish music making the forest ring. Then the singing and dancing stopped and the Indians walked more slowly around the circle.

In a minute or so another war-cry would sound and the fierce, weird music and dance would be resumed. Then some old Indian among the spectators would clap his hands, signifying that he wished to speak. The dance would cease and the dancers walk slowly 'round again, while a speech was made. The address would occupy only a half minute or a minute perhaps, and then with another of the horrifying war cries the dancing and singing were started afresh.

Ree and John might have been a thousand miles away for all the attention that was given them at first.

"Perhaps it is merely a festival dance," John whispered to his chum.

"No, it would be given in the evening if that were true," was the answer. "It means the warpath, I am sure."

John was replying that, whether merely for entertainment or for war, the dance was enough to scarce a civilized person into a trance, when Capt. Pipe suddenly clapped his hands and, as the music ceased, stepped forward and spoke. All the other speeches had been made in the Delaware tongue, but the first man of the tribe now spoke partly in English. This was for the purpose of giving them to understand just what was going on, the boys were quite certain, and frequently the chief pointed toward them.

In substance Capt. Pipe said that the whites were encroaching too far upon the lands of the Indians and preparations were being made for a great union of tribes to drive the "Long Knives" back. He promised to lead a large party of his people to join with other Delawares and the Wyandots, Shawnees and Miamies in a war which, he boastfully said, would secure to the Indians again the forests in which the Palefaces had already settled. He referred to the defeat of the whites eight years before and the burning of Col. Crawford, and said there would be scalps and plunder for every warrior who accompanied him.

John found himself wondering whether the Indians might not undertake to whet their appetites for blood by killing himself and Ree. It was of the terrible torture of Col. Crawford which Ree was thinking, and he found it hard to keep from hating the savages before him, horrible and cruel in their war paint.

And could he have looked but a few months into the future and have seen the awful carnage in which Capt. Pipe and his braves had a prominent part, at the defeat of General St. Clair near Fort Jefferson, in what is now Mercer County, Ohio, he could not have restrained his hatred as he did. He knew in after years what that battle was, and knew that the Indians boasted that their arms ached from their work with the scalping knife.

The frightful dance went on when Capt. Pipe had finished speaking, his words inspiring the warriors with new vigor who now whirled around the circle with great rapidity, going through all the motions of attacking, vanquishing and scalping an enemy. At a call from the chief, other warriors, who were standing by, sprang into the ring, joining in the singing and contortions of faces and bodies with furious energy. More and more followed as from among the dancers Capt. Pipe called from time to time, urging all who wished to win renown as warriors, and to hang scalps of the hated whites at their belts, to join him.

Each addition to the whirling, shrieking, blood-thirsty band was greeted with thunderous whoops and in the end nearly one hundred and fifty braves were going through all the barbarous awe-inspiring motions of the horrid celebration.

Well might Ree and John feel alarm for their own safety; but they looked upon the terrifying scene quite calmly, notwithstanding that, as their passions were kindled and their savage patriotism aroused by the fervor of the dance, the Indians gave them many a glance which was far from friendly.

There were two things which Ree could not help but notice as the revel continued; one was that Big Buffalo had not joined the dancers, the other that Gentle Maiden kept her eyes downcast or looked away across the lake, not once turning toward her father's painted braves. He could not help thinking it strange that the Buffalo had not signified his intention of joining the warriors, and sincerely wished the unfriendly fellow had done so. There was no other Indian whom he had so much reason to dislike, nor one whose absence was so greatly to be desired.

For more than two hours the dance went on, interrupted only when some one—usually an old Indian whose fighting days were past—clapped his hands as a signal that he wished to make a speech. But at last Capt. Pipe called a halt and stepped out from among the dancers. With a fierce look toward Big Buffalo he demanded to know of him why he would not join the war party.

Ree and John could not understand all that was said, but they saw plainly that the chief was angry. In substance the reason of Big Buffalo was that it would not do for all the strong men to leave the village; that some one must remain to provide meat for the women and children, and to protect the town.

Capt. Pipe heard these excuses with a scowl black as a thunder cloud. His giant frame stretched itself to its greatest height and his voice was filled with contempt as he flung forth but one word:

"Squaw!"

Perhaps the chief thought, as Ree was at that moment thinking, that the Buffalo's main reason for wishing to remain at home, was that he might be near Gentle Maiden. But had the truth been made known, it would have been shown that the treacherous rascal had other and more wicked reasons in his heart, as the young settlers were destined soon to learn.

With a wave of his arm Capt. Pipe dispersed his followers as Big Buffalo made no reply to his contemptuous outburst. The Indians threw themselves on the ground to rest, or went away to their lodges to more fully prepare for the warpath, and the chief, turning to Ree and John, motioned to them to follow. He led the boys to his cabin and his wife placed food before them. When they had eaten, Capt. Pipe produced pipes and all three smoked. It was a silent compact of peace, and pleased indeed were the Paleface lads that the Indian showed this disposition.

Though it was not this act of friendship which made him bold, for he would have spoken in the same way under other circumstances, Ree quietly asked Capt. Pipe why he had determined to go on the warpath.

The chief made no answer.

"It is wrong," Ree continued gravely. "You are living here in happiness and security. No Palefaces have molested you. Your people are contented; they have but to step into the forests for an abundance of game; but to approach the waters for all the fish they may desire. The ground yields rich returns from the labor of the planting season. The Delawares are well fed and well clothed. Why, then, should they give up the hunt and the pleasures of their present pursuits to take up the hatchet? Why should they seek the lives of others, whether white men or redmen? They will only bring sorrow and weeping to their own villages, and sorrow and weeping in many a Paleface home for those who never return. More than this, Chief Hopocon, the Great Spirit looks with unhappy eyes upon his children who go on the warpath not in defense of their own, but to kill and murder those who have not harmed them."

Knowing Ree even well as he did, John was surprised to hear him speak thus fluently and strongly, but he greatly feared his friend had been unwise in speaking so boldly.

For a few seconds Capt. Pipe did not answer. And then he said:

"The young brother speaks well, but he does not know. His heart is right, but he does not know. With the young men who have come among us as traders and hunters we have no quarrel. They will remain here. They will send no word of the war dance to the forts. Other Palefaces are crowding further and further. Faster and faster, they are driving the people of the forest before them. The young brother does not know this. The young brother does not know of the word which every day the runners bring, which tells of the crowding of the Long Knives more and more upon the forest. Now must they be warned to come no further. Now must they be driven back to the eastward. Else the setting sun will be the home of the Delawares. Too long—too long, have the hands of Hopocon and his warriors been idle; too long—too long, have the Delawares borne in silence."

Capt. Pipe spoke with emphasis but not violently. As he concluded he rose slowly to his feet. Ree and John followed his example, and with meaning in his gesture far greater than words could have expressed, the chieftain motioned to them to depart.

With shoulders thrown back, head erect as proud and dignified as the Indians whom he felt had thus insulted him Ree turned to leave the cabin. But John had no such feeling, nor was he so quick to see that Capt. Pipe was offended by the words of one whom he probably considered a mere boy. He saw only that the object of their visit was not likely to be accomplished and turning to the Indian said: "Capt. Pipe, we wanted to buy a little more land, and we need a horse."

With an impatient, violent sweep of his right hand, the chief touched John's shoulder with his left, and pointed across the lake in the direction of the cabin by the river.

Even in this brief time Ree's temper had cooled, and with proud dignity he turned and offered Capt. Pipe his hand. The Indian took it and also shook hands with John. His manner was haughty but not altogether unfriendly. The boys still felt that they had nothing to fear from him as they walked away.

Fishing Bird was near by as usual, as the lads went down to the water's edge. He was naked to the waist and was bedecked with paint and feathers. He looked really fierce as he strode up to shove off the canoe, not in his customary happy mood, but with cool indifference. He spoke to Ree in an undertone as the canoe glided free of the beach.

It was late in the day, and this fact taken in connection with the unpleasant events of the afternoon caused the boys to decide to go directly to their cabin rather than to go on to the Tuscarawas river upon which the Indians were accustomed to travel toward the Ohio, and which the lads had planned to explore.

"What did Fishing Bird say to you, Ree?" asked John as they reached mid-lake.

"He said we should watch out for Big Buffalo."

"Thunderation! I wonder if he isn't jealous of Big Buffalo that he is always warning us against him? He must know that we know the old rogue doesn't like us, and that is all there is of it!"

"Oh, I guess Fishing Bird means well; and I'm sorry enough that Big Buffalo isn't going with the war party. It may be that the chief's daughter has something to do with his remaining at home, but I do not think Fishing Bird is jealous. As for us, why the Buffalo has no reason to hate us on the girl's account. We never even spoke to her."

"But she has spoken to you, Ree."

"Never."

"Yes, she has—with her eyes."

"What nonsense!" Ree ejaculated. "Big Buffalo is ugly by disposition and has never forgotten the mistake I made when I overlooked him and supposed Fishing Bird to be in command of the hunting party I met that time they made me prisoner."

Presently the talk drifted to other subjects, especially to the disposition of the furs that had accumulated, and the plan to take them to Detroit now seemed the best to follow.

"But after all," Ree suggested, "we may be able to get a horse from the Delawares when Capt. Pipe and his men have gone."

"No, he is going to take all the horses. They will dance and feast to-night, and to-morrow they start," John answered.

"How do you know that?"

For a moment there was no answer; and then in a hesitating way, "Gentle Maiden told me," John confessed.

"Oh, ho! You've been making love behind my back, have you? When did you talk with her?"

"Why, there was no love about it!" exclaimed John with some pretense of indignation. "We were only talking as anybody has a right to talk. It was while they were dancing. And Ree, she speaks better English than her father. The missionaries among the Moravians who were massacred several years ago, taught her. And she thinks it was right that Col. Crawford was burned because of that massacre, too."

"I guess you have talked to the Indian girl before to-day, haven't you? Why didn't you tell me?"

"She spoke to me first, and I—I didn't think you would be interested."

Ree smiled but said no more. The canoe grated on the lake shore toward their home, and the boys took up their task of carrying it overland to the river.

"We will write some letters to send home from Pittsburg; for I still hope we will be able to take our furs there," said Ree, as they tramped along.

But in those days of more than one hundred years ago, as at the present time, none could tell what changes another sunrise would bring; and neither Ree nor John dreamed of the terrible danger which was closing in around them, the story of which is told in "Two Boy Pioneers".

THE END. W.B.C.