"Ah, Missie Jean," and the old woman raised a warning finger, "de debbil knows eberyt'ing. He kin use a gun when he wants to, an' he kin make men do his nasty work. Didn't he put it into de heart of ol' Judas Scariot to betray de good Lo'd? An' mark my word, dat's jes what he's doin' now. He's up to some trick."

"But why would he be so friendly, Mammy? He's helping us instead of trying to do us harm."

"Doan ye know yo' Bible, chile? Doesn't it say in de Good Book dat de debbil comes to folks as an angel of light, an' makes 'em b'lieve dat he's friendly an' good? No, ye kin nebber trust de debbil. He's got somet'ing up his sleeve, an' doan yo' fo'git it."

Jean merely smiled at the woman's fears, knowing how useless it was to reason any further. She was satisfied in her own mind where the birds had come from, and the thought brought a thrill to her heart. This was intensified several days later when two wild ducks were found one morning suspended from the arrow.

"This is getting to be almost uncanny," the Colonel remarked as he examined the birds. "Whoever is responsible for these presents is a strange friend. I wish he would make himself known that we might thank him."

Jean was of the same opinion, although she did not say so. She had often wondered why Dane Norwood had remained hidden. That it was the courier she had not the slightest doubt. But why did he not come by day that she might see him?

Two weeks passed and nothing more happened. Most of the houses were almost completed. The Colonel had his finished first, and it was a proud day when he gave the order to move their few belongings from the tent. This was soon done, and Jean and Mammy spent the whole of the afternoon fitting up their new abode. The day was unusually hot, and at times they were forced to seek shelter beneath the shade of some friendly trees. Night brought but little respite, and even Old Mammy complained of the heat.

"Dis is de first time I'se been wa'm since comin' to dis place," she announced. "It reminds me of my ol' home in de Souf, it sa'tinly does."

At length a vivid flash of lightning streaked the air, followed immediately by a roll of thunder off to the west.

"It's just what I've been expecting" the Colonel remarked, as he walked over to the door and looked out. "Such heat as we've had to-day is generally followed by a thunder storm. It is coming this way fast. Listen to that."

The storm was rolling up rapidly over the hills, while the play of the lightning was grand and terrible. And mingled with the roar of thunder was the sound of the hurrying feet of the rain driven before the onrushing wind. Suddenly a blinding flash illumined water and land, followed instantly by a crash that shook the cabin. Old Mammy gave a shriek of fear, and caught Jean in her arms.

"Oh, oh, oh!" she moaned. "Dis is turrible! We'll all be killed! We'll all be killed!"

"Hush, hush, Mammy," Jean ordered. "Don't get so excited. This storm will soon be over, will it not, daddy?"

"Most likely," the Colonel replied. "But come here, dear, I want you to see this wonderful electric display upon the water."

Freeing herself from the colored woman's embrace, the girl rose, crossed the room, and stood by her father's side. As she turned her eyes upon the river, she gave a gasp of astonishment. Between the shore and the Isle of Vines the lightning was holding high carnival. For an instant there was intense darkness, followed by a succession of brilliant, flickering illuminations, bewildering to the senses. Several times she was forced to turn away her head, but only for a second, as she was compelled by some strange fascination to look upon the wonderful spectacle. Flash upon flash, racing gleam upon gleam, Stygian darkness and crashing thunder intermingled in an appalling confusion. Jean felt that she could endure the sight no longer. Her body trembled, and her eyes ached. She was about to go back to Mammy, when her father laid his hand upon her shoulder.

"What is that out there?" he asked. "Ah, it's gone now. It seemed to me like a boat. There it is again."

Jean looked and for a few seconds was enabled to catch a glimpse of a craft of some kind coming to them straight from the island.

"It is a canoe, daddy, and I can see some one paddling. Who can it be on the river in such a storm as this?"

And just then the rain swept down, forcing them to retreat a few steps within the cabin. But still they peered forth, and with fast-beating hearts watched the approaching voyager. Whenever a glimmering flash revealed the canoe, it resembled a mystic bark riding through the storm, encircled with a living fire. So weird and mysterious did it seem that Jean caught her father impulsively by the arm, while a slight cry of awe escaped her lips.

"It isn't natural, daddy," she whispered. "It's uncanny. Do you suppose it's a spirit?"

"No, no, dear. It's an Indian, no doubt. Look, he has stopped paddling now, and is about to land."

Darkness again intervened, and the next flash revealed a tall form stepping upon the shore as blackness once more enshrouded him. The next glimpse showed him coming toward the cabin, carrying a bundle in his arms. In another minute he was at the door, an Indian of magnificent physique, clad in buckskins, with a squirrel-skin cap upon his head. He smiled as he looked upon the astonished ones before him. Then he held out the bundle toward the girl.

"White woman tak' babby, eh?" he asked,

But Jean hesitated, and drew back a little. This seemed to surprise the Indian.

"Babby no hurt white woman," he explained. "Babby velly leetle. Babby no home, no mamma."

No longer could Jean resist such an appeal, so stepping forward, she took the bundle in her arms. Awkwardly she held it, uncertain what to do. Then Old Mammy came to her aid, and relieved her of her burden.

"Why, chile, yo' doan know how to hol' a baby," she reproached. "Yo' hol' it upside-down. Yo' nebber had 'sperience wif babies. Dis o' woman'll show yo' how."

Seating herself upon a bench, she removed the blanket with which the child was enwrapped. Jean dropped upon her knees by her side, and when a little dusky face was exposed to view, she gave a cry of delight.

"Isn't it pretty!" she exclaimed. "And it's asleep, too."

The Indian's eyes shone with pleasure as he watched the girl's interest in the little child.

"White woman tak' care babby, eh?"

"You want us to keep it?" Jean asked.

"Ah-ha-ha. Wan moon, two moon, mebbe. Injun come bimeby."

Jean turned to her father, who had been standing silently near the door.

"May we keep it, daddy?"

"Ask Mammy," the Colonel replied. "If she is willing, I have no objections. She is the only one in this house who knows how to look after a baby."

"I'se willin', Cun'l," the old woman agreed. "It makes me t'ink of de lil'l chile I los' long time ago in ol' Connec. Yes, I'se willin'."

The Indian understood, and smiled. He turned to go, but paused and looked at Jean.

"White woman keep canoe, eh?" he queried.

"Oh, may I?" the girl eagerly asked. She had often longed for a canoe to paddle along the shore and explore the various creeks.

"Ah-ha-ha. White woman paddle all sam' Injun bimeby. Me go now."

The Colonel pressed the Indian to stay until the storm was over, but the native shook his head, and with another glance at the sleeping child, he passed out into the night.

For about an hour the storm continued to rage. But the gleaming lightning and the crashing thunder worried Old Mammy no longer. She was completely engrossed in the little charge which had been so unexpectedly committed to her care.

"I mus' take special care ob dis chile," she' said. "Mebbe it's one of de Lo'd's angels, fo' wif Him it doan make no diff'rance what is de colah of de skin. Dey's all His chillun, an' He lubs dem all alike. Doan yo' nebber fo'git dat, Missie Jean. Dis may be one of de Lo'd's angels undewares."



CHAPTER VIII

BENEATH THE SPREADING MAPLE

The little community of Loyal had most things in common, as is generally the custom in pioneer settlements. All took to their hearts the little Indian child, and felt somewhat responsible for its welfare. It seemed to them an omen of good will, and they believed that so long as it was with them they would not be disturbed by the Indians. Old Mammy was very strong on this point, and was the one who first suggested the idea.

"If a cat comes to yo' it's a sign of good luck," she declared. "Now, we didn't send fo' dis chile; it jes came to us, so why shouldn't it bring us better luck den a cat?"

The colored woman considered the baby her special property, and only on rare occasions would she allow anyone else to look after it. Jean was delighted to have it in the house, and both she and her father became very fond of the little one. They called it "Babby," not knowing its Indian name, and were greatly pleased at its cunning ways.

The days and weeks sped rapidly by, and August was close edging into September before Jean realised that summer was almost gone. It had been a busy time at the settlement, and the bright beautiful days glided uneventfully by. Once again the Polly had come up river with a load of provisions, and all had listened eagerly to the latest scraps of news brought by Captain Leavitt. They learned from him that another fleet with a band of Loyalists was coming in the fall. He expected to take many of the newcomers on his boat up river, and promised to call on his way back. This important piece of information, as well as other bits of news, was discussed for days at Loyal. They longed for some word from their old homes, and the friends they had left behind. If they could but see the Loyalists when they arrived in the fall they might hear much. Anyway, Captain Leavitt had promised to call, and no doubt he would have a fund of information.

Every fine Sunday was a great day for Jean. During the morning the Colonel gathered the people of the settlement about him, and read the service from the Prayer Book. The responses and the singing of a few old familiar hymns were very hearty, and the Doxology and the National Anthem were invariably sung at the close. It was but natural that the eyes of the older ones should become misty during this service, for it brought back memories of other days before the war.

After dinner the Colonel and Jean always went for a walk, either through the woods or along the shore to the large point which ran far out into the river. Here at this latter place they would sit under the great oak trees and talk to their hearts' content.

Their chief resort, however, was the brook which babbled down among the hills, and flowed into the river between the settlement and the point. About a mile back the brook was broken by a mass of huge rocks over which the water poured in torrents during the spring and after every heavy rain. But in the summer the rocks were bare, and only one great wreath of water slipped through a narrow crevice, and fell with a roar and a splash to the level below. Nearby father and daughter liked to sit in the shade of the trees and listen to the music of the falling water.

Jean always remembered the last time they were thus together. It was the final Sunday in August, and a most perfect afternoon. The Colonel had worked hard during the week and was very tired. He was strangely silent and depressed as he sat leaning against a rock, gazing off into space. It was so unlike his usual buoyant, cheery manner that Jean was quite anxious.

"Is anything the matter, daddy?" she at length asked. "Are you feeling sick?"

The Colonel started, and a slight forced laugh escaped his lips.

"No, no, not at all," he replied. "Do I look sick?"

"Then you must be worrying about something, daddy," and the girl's right hand stole sympathetically into his as she spoke.

"Not worrying, dear; only somewhat lost in thought. I have strange fancies this afternoon, suggested by those rocks which break the brook's steady course. There have been three such breaks in my life, and of them I have been thinking."

"I believe I know of two, daddy," Jean replied, as her father paused. "One was dear mother's death, and another the terrible war. But I do not remember the third."

"I told you once, dear, though you have forgotten, which is only natural. It was the loss of a very dear friend, Thomas Norman."

"Oh, yes, I remember now, daddy. He was the man who suddenly disappeared, and has never been heard from since."

"The very same, Jean. Next to your mother he was the best friend I had on earth. We had been boys together, and were inseparable. He was well educated, and held an important position in the King's service. When he lost it, as he believed through intrigue and treachery, his whole life was embittered. He became a changed man, and he brooded over it so much that I really believe it affected his mind. Anyway, he suddenly left with his wife and family, and I have never heard from him since. That was a long time ago when you were a mere child. But I can never forget him, and the happy years we spent together. What a joy it would be to have him here with me now as in the days of old. But that cannot be. As that brook flows on, notwithstanding the break in its course, so must my life. However, I have much to be thankful for. I have you, dear, and you are a great comfort. If anything should happen to you, I do not believe I could endure life any longer."

"Don't you worry about losing me, daddy," the girl assured. "I am going to stick right close to you, no matter what happens. But I think you had better leave this place which gives you such gloomy thoughts. This is too nice a day to feel unhappy."

"You are right, dear, and I suppose we had better go home. But I like to watch those great trees over yonder. How strong and self-reliant they are. How proudly they lift their heads. What storms have swept over them, and yet they stand as erect as ever. They do not complain, but accept everything, whether sunshine or darkness, winter or summer, as a matter of course. They are friendly, too, and their big branches seem to reach out like welcoming hands. There is always something inspiring to me about a great forest."

Often during the following days Jean's mind reverted to what her father had said to her at the falls. Although his old cheerful spirit returned, yet she observed him at times during the evenings, which were now lengthening, wrapped in thought, unheeding what was taking place around him. This worried her a great deal, and a new sense of responsibility began to shape itself in her mind. She believed that he missed his old home in Connecticut more than he would acknowledge, and that he was wearying of the monotonous life in the wilderness. Perhaps he needed a change, and she wondered how this could be brought about.

She was thinking seriously of this at the close of a bright day as she pointed the bark canoe up the creek lying to the northwest of the settlement. She had become quite expert in handling the frail craft, although, at her father's bidding, she always paddled in shallow water. It was a beautiful afternoon, and the mighty forest crowning the undulating hills was radiant with the beams of the streaming sun. Slowly she moved up a narrow winding channel, the trees of the shoreward side spreading out their great branches in a leafy canopy, while on the other, acres of rushes and lily-pads lined the way. It was a fairy-like scene through which she moved, and but for the serious thoughts which were agitating her mind, her soul would have been thrilled at the magnificent vista spreading out before her.

Reaching at length the mouth of the brook, where the shallowness of the water made further progress impossible, she ran the bow of the canoe gently upon the shore under the shade of a big maple tree. Here she rested and viewed with interest the antics of two red squirrels as they frisked about and scolded most furiously at the intrusion of the stranger in their domain. So funny did they appear that Jean was compelled to laugh outright. She always enjoyed watching the tiny creatures of the wild, especially the squirrels. She could get closer to these saucy and daring rascals of the nimble feet than their shyer comrades of the forest.

Presently in the midst of their antics the squirrels suddenly started, ceased their scolding, and scurried rapidly away. That something had frightened them Jean was certain, and she grew nervous. She was about to back the canoe from the shore and leave the place, when the tall form of a man unexpectedly emerged from the forest and stood before her. So great was her own fright that for a few seconds she was completely unnerved, although she uttered no sound. Her face became very white, and her heart beat wildly. Then recognising the intruder as Dane Norwood, she gave a slight hysterical laugh, and her tense body relaxed.

"Oh, my, how you frightened me!" she gasped. "I didn't know you at first."

"Forgive me," the young man apologised, as he stepped to the side of the canoe. "I came upon you sooner than I expected."

"Did you know I was here?" Jean asked.

"Yes. I happened to see you as I crossed the brook farther up."

"Where were you going?"

"To see you, of course. It has taken me three months to get here, and when I do arrive I frighten you almost out of your senses."

Jean smiled as she picked up the paddle. She had to be doing something, for she felt the hot glow stealing into her cheeks beneath Dane's ardent gaze. She was greatly struck by the remarkable change in his appearance. The travel-stained buckskin suit he had worn when first she met him had been replaced by a new one, neat and clean. It fitted him perfectly, making him appear taller and nobler than ever.

"Have you been really travelling three months to get here?" Jean asked. "You do not look like it." She glanced at his clothes, and this Dane noted.

"I have not been travelling all that time to get here," he explained. "I did not mean that. But Davidson has kept me so busy the last three months that I could not get away, although I tried several times."

"And you were not here before?" Jean asked in surprise. "Why, I thought it was you who gave us those presents, and stuck that arrow into the tree."

"Oh, Pete did that. He was keeping an eye over you."

"Who is Pete?"

"My Indian; the one who generally travels with me. You surely must have met him."

"No, I never did."

"But this is his canoe! How did you get it, then? It must be a sign of special favour, for I never knew him to let any one have his favourite canoe before."

"A big Indian left it with me the night of the great storm when he brought his little child to our place. It is there now."

"That must have been Pete!" Dane exclaimed in astonishment. "I have not seen him for several weeks, and did not know what had happened to him. It is very seldom that he leaves me for such a length of time. I am puzzled, though, about the child."

"He said that its mother is dead, and he wanted us to look after it for one moon, and maybe two. I hope he will leave it with us a long time, for we are very fond of it."

"Ah, now I understand," and Dane's eyes wandered thoughtfully out upon the river. "Poor Pete, he must be making up for lost time. It is just like him. He is a great Indian."

Noticing the expression of interest and curiosity in the girl's eyes, Dane smiled.

"Yes," he continued, "Pete always makes up for lost time. Five years ago his first wife died, and he was away for over two months. It was during the war when efforts were being made to keep the Indians true to King George. It was a hard struggle, and James White, the deputy agent of Indian affairs, was often at his wits' end. But at last a treaty was signed at Fort Howe, when the Indians and the English all became 'one brother,' as the natives say. I found out afterwards that Pete had a great deal to do with the signing of that treaty. He travelled from camp to camp, meeting the Indians, and urging them to be loyal to King George. He made up for lost time then, and I believe he is doing so now. No doubt we shall hear from him soon."

"Do you think the Indians are becoming troublesome again?" Jean somewhat anxiously asked.

"Not altogether this time. Our danger now is from the slashers, as they will do their best to stir up the Indians. But Pete will be on the lookout. He nipped a little game of theirs in the bud over a year ago."

"How?" Jean was becoming keenly interested.

"Oh, he brought us news of a raid the slashers were about to make upon the King's mast-cutters, so we were able to check them. Twenty of us marched all day and night through the woods and fell upon the rebels before they were awake. There was a lively tussle, but we cleaned them out, although they were double our number. Pete had been absent for two weeks before that, but his timely news put him back again in Davidson's good books."

"I hope there will be no more trouble," and Jean gave a deep sigh. "Everything has been so quiet this summer that I can hardly imagine that there are mischief-makers around. Perhaps those guns which Major Studholme sent up river have been a warning to the slashers. But my, how late it is getting! Daddy will be anxious about me. You will come and have tea with us, will you not?"

The young courier needed no second bidding, so in a few minutes the canoe was speeding riverward, with Dane paddling and Jean facing him. Peace surrounded them as they moved onward, but a deeper peace than that which brooded over river and land dwelt in their happy young hearts.



CHAPTER IX

LOVE'S-CHARM

Through the great network of branches of maples, birches, and other trees the light of a new day sifted down upon a little lake about a mile back from the settlement. Dane Norwood woke from a sound sleep and looked out over the water. He was in no hurry to rise, as he felt very comfortable lying there on his bed of fir boughs wrapped in his warm blanket. About half way up the lake several wild ducks were feeding among the weeds and rushes, unconscious of any danger. To these Dane paid little attention. He was waiting for larger game, and his eyes and ears were keenly alert to the one sound and sight which would electrify him into immediate action.

His mind naturally turned to the previous evening when he had sat with the Colonel and his daughter before the big fire-place. The vision of the girl's face, lighted by the dancing flames, stood out before him clear and distinct. How her eyes had shone as, urged by the Colonel, he related story after story of adventures in the heart of the untamed forest among Indians, slashers, and wild beasts. The time had passed all too quickly, and when he at length rose to leave, the Colonel offered him the use of his tent near the cabin. But Dane had reluctantly declined. He had his own camping-outfit on the shore of the lake, where he had left gun, blanket, and a small supply of food that afternoon. He did not mind the walk through the forest, dark though it was. He was more at home in the woodland ways than on city streets. His was the instinct of the wild, and he travelled more by intuition than by sight.

There was another reason why he wished to camp by the lake. He correctly surmised that the food supply at the settlement was getting low. The men were not hunters, and although supplied with guns, they had made little use of them in obtaining game from the surrounding hills, considering them chiefly as weapons of defence in case of attack. With Dane, however, it was different. To him the forests and streams were Nature's great larder, filled with all manner of good things.

As he lay there thinking of the girl at the settlement, the morning light strengthened, and the trees along the eastern shore threw out long uneven shadows upon the water. Not a ripple ruffled the mirror-like surface, except those caused by the feeding ducks. Dane's special attention was directed to a spot on the western shore which he had carefully examined the day before. From the newly-made foot-prints he knew that this was a favourite resort of moose, deer, and caribou where they came to drink and to wallow in the mud. And in this he was not mistaken, for as he patiently waited, the great antlered-head of a bull moose suddenly emerged from the forest. The lordly animal paused for a few seconds and looked around. Dane was fully alert now. With his gun resting across a fallen log, he trained his eye along the smooth dark barrel. Then as the moose stepped forward and its right side was presented to view, he pulled the trigger. The loud report resounded through the silent forest reaches, and sent the ducks scurrying wildly out of the water. With a snort of pain and surprise the moose threw back its great head, lifted its fore feet from the ground, reeled for an instant, and crashed over on its side, a huge bulk of quivering, lifeless flesh.

Half an hour later Dane was speeding toward the settlement, carrying a choice piece of meat suspended from a stout stick across his right shoulder. He surprised Mammy in the act of preparing the fire for breakfast as he approached with noiseless steps, and held the meat before her.

"Oh, Lo'd, how yo' did scare me!" she exclaimed, straightening herself up, and looking at the young man. "I'se as weak as a chicken, an' my bref's almos' gone. I was sure yo' was an Injun or a tager jumpin' at me."

Dane smiled as he laid the meat upon a log, and drew forth his sharp sheath knife.

"I am sorry I frightened you," he apologised. "But a piece of this will give you new strength. You get the frying-pan ready while I carve a few slices. I am going to help you get breakfast this morning. We will give the Colonel and Miss Sterling a great surprise."

And surprised father and daughter certainly were when at length they came out of the house and saw the nicely-browned slices of steak lying in the frying-pan.

"So this is what you have been up to, young man," the Colonel smilingly remarked. "I understand now why you refused to remain here last night. Is this moose or deer steak?"

"Moose, and there is plenty more where this came from. I am astounded that you have not been feasting upon game before this, as the forest is full of birds and animals."

"I am afraid that we are poor hunters," the Colonel replied. "I, at any rate, know very little about woodland ways."

"Then I shall teach you," Dane declared. "But first of all, I want you to try this steak. Then we must get the men to go with me to bring in that moose. It will not do to leave it long out there. If we do, the bears and other animals will soon finish it."

Jean said very little during breakfast, leaving her father and Dane to do most of the talking. But her heart was happy and light. To her this visitor was more than an ordinary man. She was of an impressionable nature, and naturally surrounded Dane Norwood with the glamour of romance. His buoyant, free-from-care manner, and the roving life he led thrilled and enthralled her very soul. To her he was the living embodiment of valiant knights and princes who figured in tales she had heard and read, especially those of the Arthurian Legends. Malory's "Morte d'Arthur," notwithstanding its quaint language and quainter pictures, had so enkindled her mind that she herself at times had seemed the heroine in many a stirring scene. It was largely due to these impressions that she relished the life in the wilderness, and looked upon the King's courier as a hero of more than ordinary mettle.

Breakfast over, the Colonel summoned the men of the settlement, and, guided by Dane, they went at once to the lake after the moose. Jean obtained her father's permission to accompany them, and she thoroughly enjoyed the trip. The men were like a crowd of boys just out of school, and the forest resounded with laughter and animated talk. The prospect of an abundance of game during the fall and winter elevated their spirits, and made them forget the days and weeks when food had been scarce. To them Dane was a Godsend, and they took him to their hearts and made him as one of themselves. That he and the Colonel's daughter were in love with each other they were not slow in learning. But there was no rude chaffing as the two walked a little apart from the rest. They were men noble enough to respect the sacredness of a first great love.

There was much rejoicing among the women and children when the men returned to the settlement with the moose. It had been skinned and carefully divided. Some carried their portions, while others bore theirs suspended on poles from shoulder to shoulder. Thus for the first time since leaving their old homes did the exiles have a sufficient supply of meat.

A new life now pervaded the settlement. During the following days and weeks the men roamed the forest-clad hills and valleys in search of game. Directed by Dane, they soon became quite skilful hunters, especially the Colonel, who was never happier than when out in the woods. Then around the big camp-fire at night, the men would relate their thrilling and humorous experiences during the day.

This was a pleasant time for Dane. He had shifted his camping-place from the lake to the shore of the creek, and here he had built for himself a small abode, covering the roof and sides with wide strips of birch bark to keep out the rain. He was very skilful at such work, and a happy afternoon it was for him when he first showed Jean his finished cabin. They had come by water, and the bow of the canoe was resting upon the shore. It was here that they had met three weeks before, and under the big maple Dane had erected his little building. The tree had put on its scarlet bunting, and touched by the bright September sun, glowed its welcome to the young lovers.

Jean examined the cabin most carefully, and her admiration was unbounded.

"I think it is splendid!" she enthusiastically exclaimed. "You never told me anything about it."

"I wanted to surprise you," Dane explained. "I have been so busy with other things that I have had little time to work here, so only finished it a few days ago."

"And will you live here all the time?" Jean eagerly asked.

The young man smiled as he looked fondly upon the girl's animated face and sparkling eyes. Then he shook his head.

"I wish I could live here, Jean. But I have a dozen such cabins in various places, and I must spend some time in them during the coming winter. They are my stopping-places, you see, when I am carrying messages for Davidson. No doubt he is very angry now at my long absence, so I shall have to go away in a day or two."

"But you will come back soon, will you not?"

"Do you really want me to come back soon?" Dane asked.

"W-why certainly," the girl stammered, while her face suddenly flushed. "I hope you will use this cabin often."

"I will make it larger and stay here all the time, if you want me to."

"Oh, will you? How nice that would be."

"But only if you will stay with me."

"Oh!" It was all that Jean could say, for his meaning was now quite clear. Her eyes dropped, and her body slightly trembled.

Impulsively Dane reached out and took both of her hands in his.

"You know what I mean, Jean," he said. "Surely you know how I love you."

Receiving no reply, he drew her quickly to him, and kissed her upon the lips. Startled and embarrassed, she made a faint effort to free herself, but strong arms held her firm.

"Don't! Don't!" she gasped, while the rich blood crimsoned her face. "You have no right to do this."

"I have the right of love," Dane contended, as he again kissed her. "I love you, and I know that you love me."

Jean made no further protest. Notwithstanding her confusion, she was supremely happy. Although often wooed, she had never before submitted to a lover's kiss, nor allowed his arms to encircle her. But now it was different. She loved this man as she once thought it impossible to love any one, and she knew that he loved her. His strength and masterfulness appealed to her, and made her a willing victim. She could not deny it, neither did she wish to do so. She was content to give herself up wholly and unreservedly to her conquering hero.

And as the two stood silently there, the lordly maple seemed to reach out its great branches over their young united heads and beam its happy benediction. The ubiquitous squirrels appeared to know that something unusual was taking place. They cocked their shrewd little heads in a listening attitude, stared impudently, and then sent the news abroad to their feathered and furry comrades of the forest. Of all this, however, the lovers were unconscious, so lost were they in their new-found joy.

"I never realised that you cared so much for me," Jean at length whispered. "When did you begin to love me?"

"From the first time I saw you by that shack at Portland Point," Dane replied. "I was so absent-minded when I went back to the lake that Pete did not know what to make of me. I returned later and saw you at one of the camps telling stories to several children. You know what happened after that."

"Indeed I do," the girl declared. "I can never forget that night, nor how you saved me from Seth Lupin."

"Have you heard from the villain since?"

"Not since coming here. But so long as he is in this country I cannot feel safe. I sometimes imagine he is prowling around here and will appear at any minute."

"Umph, it won't be well for him if he does when I am here," and Dane's hands clenched hard. "He won't get off as easily as he did that last time. I thought he might follow you when you first arrived at this place, so ordered Pete to be on the lookout. I hoped that you would understand the meaning of that arrow in the big pine."

"I was certain that you had much to do with that," Jean replied. "For a while I thought that you were near, and wondered why you did not come to see me. But now I know that you were thinking of my welfare, and longing to come."

"I was always thinking about you, Jean, and I have something here to show how much you were in my mind."

Thrusting his right hand into the breast-pocket of his jacket, he brought forth a little piece of wood. Removing a plug from one end, he drew out a silver arrow-pin.

"This is a proof how much I was thinking of you. You little know how eagerly I looked forward to the time when I would have the right to present it to you."

"And did you really make this?" Jean asked, taking the arrow in her hand and examining it most carefully. "I think it is wonderful."

"Yes, I made it myself," Dane replied, delighted at the girl's interest and pleasure. "I worked it out of a silver coin my mother gave me years ago, and which I valued most highly. For no one else would I have done such a thing."

Dane's voice was a little husky as he spoke, and this Jean noticed.

"Your mother is dead, then?" she queried. She had often longed to ask him about her, but owing to his reticence about his past life, she had not done so. She had thought it strange, nevertheless, that he had never mentioned his parents.

"My mother died five years ago," Dane explained. "Whatever I am I owe to her. She was a noble woman."

"Is your father dead, too? Have you no home?"

"I have had no real home since my mother died," was the evasive reply. "My home is wherever night overtakes me. I cannot tell you any more now, so please do not ask me. I know you will trust me."

He paused abruptly, impulsively took the arrow from the girl's hand, and placed it in her dress at her throat. He then stepped back to view the effect.

"It becomes you well, Jean, and you must always wear it there. It is Love's-Charm, and it may mean more to you than you now imagine."

"I shall always wear it," was the low response, "not only as Love's-Charm but as a remembrance of this happy day."



CHAPTER X

WHILE THE WATER FLOWS

The Colonel was not altogether surprised when that evening Jean told him the important news. He had not been blind and deaf to all that had been taking place around him since Dane's arrival. He was fond of the courier, and believed him to be a noble young man, worthy of his daughter's love. He wanted Jean to be happy, for in her happiness his own was vitally involved. Yet it was only natural that the news of the betrothal should bring a pang to his heart. Jean was his all, his comfort, his joy. But now she shared her love with another, a young man, of whose past history he knew very little, and nothing of the family from which he had sprung.

He showed no trace of this feeling, however, as he sat before the fire. Jean was standing by his side, the bright, flickering flames illuminating her happy face. Suddenly she realised something of what this revelation meant to him who was so dear to her. She had never thought of it before, and it swept upon her now with a startling intensity. What would her father do without her? She was all that he had, and should she leave him, what would become of him? She recalled his words uttered at the falls. "If anything happens to you," he had said, "I do not believe I could endure life any longer." She had smiled at him then, but she did not do so now. Stooping, she impulsively threw her arms around her father's neck, and kissed him.

"You are not going to lose me, daddy," she said. "You will always have me with you. And you will have another to help you," she added in a lower voice.

"I know it, dear, I know it," was the somewhat faltering reply. "I want you to be happy, Jean, and I believe the young man is worthy of your love."

"'Deed he is," Old Mammy declared, as just then she waddled toward the fire. Early that evening Jean had whispered the news into her ear, and had received the old nurse's blessing, accompanied by a great motherly hug. "Mistah Dane is a puffect gen'l'man," she continued. "He's not one bit stuck up, an' he's got manners, too. Why, he touches his cap to dis ol' woman, an' if dat ain't a sign of a gen'leman, den I'd like to know what is. I ain't afraid to trust Missie Jean wif a man like dat."

"But suppose he should take Jean away?" the Colonel queried.

"Doan yo' worry 'bout dat, Cun'l. Missie Jean'll nebber leave us. But if she should, dis ol' woman'll go wif her."

"You are right, Mammy," Jean replied. "I shall not leave you and daddy. We must always remain together."

For some time father and daughter sat before the fire and talked after Old Mammy had gone to bed. To Jean the future looked bright and rosy. The Colonel, on the other hand, viewed it with considerable apprehension. In a land as yet a great wilderness, he could not help seeing mountains of difficulties rising sternly before them. He knew how many hardships must beset their path for years to come. At present they were living in a most precarious manner, exiles, with the pioneering work all ahead. But with Jean it was different. To her the trail of life looked very pleasant, gleaming golden beneath the mystic halo of romance.

The Colonel spent the next day with Dane in the hills. He wished to be alone with the courier who had won his daughter's heart. There were many things he desired to say to him, and he hoped to learn a little, at least, about his past life. He had something on his mind this day of far greater importance to him than moose, deer, or caribou.

The morning passed most pleasantly, and the Colonel was more satisfied than ever with his companion. Dane was well versed in forest lore, and the ways of the feathered and furry creatures of the trails were to him an open book. Gradually and tactfully the Colonel led him to talk about his life, but on this subject he became more reserved. He spoke enthusiastically about his mother, and how much he owed to her. His father, however, he never mentioned. The Colonel was far from satisfied, as he had learned really nothing about Dane's history, nor how his parents happened to be in this country.

They stopped to eat their dinner by a sparkling spring which bubbled from a wooded hillside. They were hungry, and thoroughly enjoyed the good things Mammy had provided.

"I suppose this is a common occurrence to you," the Colonel remarked when he had finished his meal.

"It has been my life for years," was the quiet reply. "I hardly know how to eat at a table."

"Have you no home?" the Colonel asked. "Is your father not living?"

"Yes, I believe he is living, but I have not seen him for years."

"And why not?"

To this question Dane made no reply. He sat very still, looking down through the trees into the valley below. The Colonel at first became impatient, then angry.

"Look here, young man," he began, "if you are to have my daughter, I must know something more about who you are, and where you have come from. Why do you not wish to tell me about your father?"

Had any one else spoken in such a peremptory manner he would soon have learned his mistake. As it was, Dane found it difficult to control himself.

"I cannot tell you now," he quietly replied. "I must explain nothing, so please do not press me further."

The Colonel was now thoroughly aroused. His fighting blood was stirred, and he turned angrily upon his companion.

"Are you ashamed of your father?" he roared. "Who is he? and what has he done that you won't tell me about him? Surely———" He paused abruptly, while a look of consternation leaped into his eyes. He reached out and clutched Dane by the arm. "Tell me," he demanded, in a voice that was but a hoarse whisper, "is your father an Indian? Speak, quick. I must know the truth."

With a gesture of impatience, Dane threw aside the clutching hand, and sprang to his feet, his eyes ablaze with anger.

"No, my father is not an Indian," he cried.

He was on the point of saying more, but restraining himself, he picked up his gun and slipped swiftly away among the trees. Down into the valley he moved, hardly caring where he went. For the second time in his life he was afraid of himself; for the second time he fled from an angry grey-haired man, not through fear of what might happen to himself, but what he might do. His soul was stirred within him, and the blood surged madly through his veins. But now, as on that other occasion, he was saved by a mighty influence from being one with the beasts of the forest, and that influence was the prevailing power of love.

At length he stopped on the edge of a wild meadow, and threw himself down upon a bed of moss under a fir tree. He remembered how he had done the same five years before when he had fled from the face of the man from whose loins he had sprung. It was love then which had restrained him and held his hand, the love he bore to a woman whose memory was enshrined in his heart, and that woman was his mother. So now his love for the fairest maiden at Loyal kept him from laying violent hands upon her father, the man who had insulted him.

And as he lay there his calmness gradually returned, until he once again felt master of himself. He could not remain longer at the settlement with the Colonel's anger hot against him. Something would be sure to happen which might separate him forever from the girl of his heart's choice. He must go away and lose himself for a time in the heart of the forest. But before going, he must see Jean once more, see her unknown to her father, and ask her to wait and be patient. The thought of going to the Colonel for a reconciliation never once entered his mind; such a thing was most foreign to his independent nature.

Time passed unheeded as he remained there lost in thought. At length he was startled by the report of a gun, followed almost immediately by a ringing cry of fear. Leaping to his feet, he dashed into the open, and looked intently up across the wild meadow. Nothing unusual was to be seen, but a great crashing could be plainly heard among the bushes. To Dane that sound was similar to a discordant note to a trained musician's sensitive ear. He had often heard it before, and knew its meaning. It always meant danger, and never more so than now.

Bounding forward in the direction of the sound, in a few seconds his eyes fell upon the cause of the disturbance. A great bull moose was charging, and the object of his rage was the Colonel, frantically striving to free himself from a tangle of fallen tree-tops into which he had plunged. That the man had fled a short distance after wounding the moose was quite evident. But to escape now by flight from that infuriated animal was utterly impossible. This the Colonel realised, so his only hope lay in seeking refuge amidst the tops of the fallen trees. This position, however, was most precarious, for the branches were half rotten and brittle, absolutely unable to withstand the terrific goring impact of those wide-spread antlers, impelled by insensate rage and over one thousand pounds of flesh, bone, and sinewy muscles.

In an instant Dane comprehended the seriousness of the situation. He knew that there was no time to lose, so bringing his musket to his shoulder, he took a quick, careful aim and fired. The great antlered demon was but a few feet from the tree-tops when the bullet tore into its side just back of the shoulder. It charged and crashed into the branches, but where it charged it fell, and after a brief convulsive struggle remained still. The fighting days of the monarch of the trails were ended.

Hastening at once to the spot, Dane found the Colonel pinned down amidst a tangle of branches and antlers, and unable to help himself. With considerable difficulty the courier at last assisted him to his feet. Apart from several bruises upon the body, the only injury was in the left arm, on which one of the prongs had struck a glancing blow. An instant later this same arm had been caught under the huge body and held as in a vise. The Colonel was weak, and trembled as he endeavoured to stand upright. Blood oozed from several scratches on his forehead and trickled down into his white beard. But he maintained a brave spirit, and smiled as Dane questioned him about his injuries.

"I shall be all right shortly," he said. "There are no bones broken, for which I am most thankful. I am somewhat weak, that is all."

"Suppose we go down to the brook and let me bathe your face," Dane suggested. "It is not far, and you can lean on me."

Supported by the courier, the Colonel slowly made his way along the border of the meadow to the little brook which flowed sluggishly through a mass of wild grass and alders. Here Dane brought forth a piece of soft cloth from one of his pockets, with which he washed away the blood stains from the Colonel's forehead and beard. Then from a small wooden tube he produced some salve-like ointment which he applied to the wounds, thus giving immediate relief.

"I see you are well prepared for emergencies," the Colonel remarked, both interested and pleased at the young man's skill and attention.

"Experience has taught me to be always ready," Dane replied. "One never knows what is going to happen in the woods, so a few bandages are very handy. That ointment, too, is useful. It is a simple Indian remedy, but very effective."

The Colonel made no further comment, but lay upon the ground lost in thought. There was a far-away look in his eyes, which caused Dane to wonder what he was thinking about. At length he aroused and turned toward his companion.

"Young man," he began, "I am greatly indebted to you for saving my life to-day. But for your prompt action that moose would have crushed me to death in a short time. I now ask your forgiveness for my impatience and anger toward you to-day."

He held out his hand, but to his surprise Dane stepped quickly to the other side of the narrow brook.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Colonel asked. "Shall we not be friends?"

In reply Dane smiled and stretched out his hand, which the Colonel immediately grasped.

"This is the Indian custom," Dane explained. "While the grass grows, the sun shines, and the water flows, we will be friends."

"Amen," broke fervently from the Colonel's lips.

And there across that little stream youth and age clasped hands, and a bond of friendship was formed which not even death itself could break.



CHAPTER XI

THE SUMMONS

There was a flutter of excitement at the settlement when the betrothal of the Colonel's daughter and the King's courier became known. The young people, especially, were quite excited, and discussed it in the most animated manner. But it did not end in talk, for they decided to celebrate the event that very evening. In every home preparations were soon under way, and the women vied with one another in the culinary art. Jean was to know nothing about what was taking place, hence a careful watch was kept upon her movements. Old Mammy was let into the secret, and her face beamed with pleasure as the news was whispered into her ear.

"And you must not tell, Mammy," was the warning. "We want you to know so that you can help us to keep the secret from Jean until the right minute."

"Why, bress yo' life," the faithful servant replied, "dis ol' colored woman won't say nuffin'. She nebber knows nuffin', anyway, 'cept to hol' her tongue at de right time, which is more'n mos' folks kin do. An' doan yo' worry 'bout Missie Jean takin' any hint of what's goin' on. She's in lub, an' when a pusson's in lub, she's so near to heaben dat she doan pay much heed to what's goin' on 'round her. An' dat's de way wif Missie Jean."

Of all this excitement and innocent deception Jean was totally unaware. Part of the morning she played with the little Indian child along the shore, and rambling in the woods a short distance from the house. Much of the afternoon she spent in the canoe upon the water. She visited again the place up the creek under the big maple, and recalled the happy day when she and Dane had been last there, and the words of love which had been breathed into her ears. Taking the arrow-pin in her hand, she looked at it for some time. The words "Love's-Charm," kept running through her mind, and she wondered in what way that little trinket would be a Love-Charm to her. Suddenly and impulsively she raised it to her lips. Then she gave a quick, startled glance around, fearful lest she had been observed. She smiled at what she considered her foolishness, replaced the pin, and pushed the canoe from the shore.

When she reached home she was surprised that her father and Dane had not returned. The days were much shorter now, so the shades of night were stealing over the land as she entered the house. She had noticed a great heap of drift-wood piled upon the shore, but thought little about it, as it was a common occurrence on these cool nights for the young people to have a bonfire. She found Mammy preparing supper, with the child playing upon the floor nearby. The fire-place was aglow, and the flames, licking about several sticks of white maple, illuminated the room. It was a cheery, homelike scene, but Jean's first thoughts were for the hunters. She expressed her anxiety to Mammy, and asked what could be keeping them so late.

"Doan yo' worry 'bout dem, chile," the old woman replied. "Dey's well able to take care of demselves. Yo' might hab reason to be anxious if yo' daddy was alone. But he's got Mistah Dane wif him, an' dat young man knows de woods better'n I used to know my cookin'-stove in Ol' Connec. No, yo' needn't worry one bit. Dey'll turn up all right, 'specially when dey's good an' hungry; dat's jes like men."

But Jean did worry, especially when another hour passed and the men had not returned. Supper had been ready for some time, and even Mammy was beginning to show her impatience. She fussed with the baby, glanced often toward the fire, where the dishes were being kept hot, and at last lighted the dip-candles which she had placed upon the table.

"De Cun'l likes to hab de room bright," she remarked, "'specially when he comes home. He kin see yo' pretty face all de better, Missie Jean. An' Mistah Dane'll need a good light when he comes in, an' he'll be 'sprised when he sees how yo' look. I nebber saw yo' look better'n yo' do jes now, wif yo' hair fixed up so nice, de lobely col'r in yo' cheeks, an' wearin' dat beau'ful dress yo' brung from Ol' Connec."

Jean turned and smiled upon the woman. She had been standing at the open door for some time, watching and listening for the hunters.

"You must not flatter me, Mammy, or you will make me vain," she replied. "Oh, I wish they would come! I am getting so anxious."

Scarcely had she finished speaking when the absent ones appeared suddenly before her. Seeing her father leaning heavily on Dane's arm, she gave a slight cry of fear, and darted to his side.

"Daddy, daddy, what is the matter?" she asked. "Are you hurt?"

"Let me get into the house, dear, and I shall tell you," the Colonel replied. "I feel very tired."

Seated before the fire, and later at the table, the story of the fight with the moose was told. The Colonel described the scene most vividly, and gave the courier great credit. He said nothing, however, about the quarrel, neither did Dane refer to it. That had passed with the running water over which they had clasped hands of enduring friendship. It was well, they were both aware, that none should know of it but themselves.

Jean was greatly interested in this adventure, and she watched her father with beaming eyes, forgetting at times her supper. Dane thought that he had never seen her look so beautiful. He admired the dress she was wearing, and he was pleased to see the Love-Charm at her throat. He observed the flickering light dancing upon her soft, wavy hair, and the varying expressions playing upon her face as she listened to her father. His heart was full of joy, and he realised more than ever before how pleasant it was to return from the hills to the light and warmth of a home where love dwelt.

They had finished their supper, and the Colonel was resting upon a settle near the fire, when a knock sounded upon the door, and a number of young people at once entered. They were in the gayest of moods, and surrounding Jean and Dane, they led them out of the house. Down to the shore they hurried, where the big bonfire was blazing merrily, and great forked flames were leaping high into the air.

"What is the meaning of this, Mammy?" the Colonel asked, as soon as the young people had left. "What is going on to-night?"

"It's a dance 'bout de fire, Cun'l," the old woman explained. "De young folks hab been plannin' all dis bressed day to s'prize Missie Jean an' Mistah Dane t'night. Dey's been cookin' an' cookin', an' whisperin' mysterious like, an' laffin' an' laffin' to split dere sides."

"What about?"

"Why, doan yo' know, Cun'l?" and Mammy looked her surprise. "Jes as soon as de young folks heard de news 'bout Missie Jean an' Mistah Dane dey made plans to cel'brate, so dat's what dey's doin' now. An' listen, Cun'l, to de music. Simon's settin' on a log, playin' fo' all he's worf, an' de young folks is a dancin'. Yo' bett'r come an' see fo' yo' set."

"I can see from where I am, Mammy, if you will move aside," was the reply. "I can't see very well through you."

With the woman's bulky body out of the way, the Colonel was enabled to view all that was taking place near the shore. The fire lighted up the ground for a considerable distance, so he could see the young people moving to and fro, and hear their chatter and happy laughter. And in their midst were Jean and Dane, the happiest of all. Occasionally a young man would throw some wood, or a great root upon the fire. As the flames leaped up anew, and masses of sparks were hurled in all directions, shouts of merriment ascended, followed by shrieks of laughter as the maidens fled from the falling, fiery shower. The Colonel smiled as he watched the merrymakers. He liked to see them happy. Their sojourn in the wilderness had not dampened their spirits, and he knew that such people were the right pioneers for a new land.

Jean and Dane thoroughly enjoyed themselves. They were pleased at the interest taken on their behalf, and entered heartily into the spirit of the gathering. As the evening wore on, and the dancing subsided, they gathered in little groups around the fire, far enough away to escape the intense heat. And here upon the ground they sat while the good things which had been cooked that day were passed around. Then it was that the older members of the settlement came to partake of the repast. Several jugs containing West India spirits were produced, and all drank to the health of the young couple they delighted to honour. The use of this beverage was almost universal, being dispensed as an ordinary act of hospitality, and no festive occasion was considered complete without the flowing cup. Snuff-boxes were then brought forth, and their contents liberally sampled, while those who smoked filled their piles and lighted them with small burning embers. Snuff, like Jamaica spirits and New England rum, was in more general use than tobacco. Various were the shapes and designs of the snuff-boxes, some being of considerable value. They were carried in the pockets, and two men meeting would exchange whiffs as a matter of course. True hospitality was deemed lacking where the friendly box was not passed around. It was the custom, and custom makes all things proper.

While this genial spirit of contentment and good will prevailed around the fire, a tall Indian stood within the shadow of the forest, and watched the scene with much interest and curiosity. At length he stepped forth into the flame-lit circle, and walked deliberately over to where Dane was seated. His presence was at once noted, and a sudden hush fell upon the gathering.

"Hello, Pete!" Dane exclaimed in surprise. "Where have you come from, and what do you want?"

The native replied in the deep guttural Indian tongue, and what he said caused Dane to start, while an expression of anxiety overspread his face. He asked a question in the same language, with which he was quite familiar, and when it had been answered, he turned to the intensely interested group around him.

"I am sorry to have to leave you," he announced, "but I must go at once, as I am needed up river."

"Is it anything serious?" Jean asked in a low voice.

"I am afraid so," Dane replied. "I told you that Pete would suddenly turn up with important news, and I was right. The rebels are stirring up trouble."

"But you must see daddy before you go," Jean said. "He will be greatly disappointed if you don't."

"Certainly I must see him. Let us go at once, as there is no time to lose."

Together they made their way to the house, leaving the people around the fire gazing curiously after them. As they entered, they saw the Indian bending over the sleeping child, and watching it most intently. Mammy was standing by on the defensive, fearful lest she was about to lose her little charge.

"Doan let him take her, Mistah Dane," she cried. "I can't spare Babby. Drive him out ob de house."

Pete at once straightened himself up to his full height, and smiled as he looked upon the agitated woman.

"Injun no tak' babby," he said. "Injun no cabin. Babby no mamma."

"Bress de Lo'd fo' His goodness!" Mammy fervently exclaimed, lifting on high her hands, "and let all de earf gib t'anks unto His holy name fo' ebber an' ebber."

The Colonel was greatly interested over Dane's departure, and asked him several questions.

"I can tell you very little now," the young man replied. "That the rebels are up to some mischief is quite certain. Pete has found out where they are to meet to-morrow night, so we must be on hand to learn their plans."

"Is it far from here?"

"Quite a distance. We shall take the canoe, and make it in several hours."

"Why not wait until daylight?"

"That would not do, as we need darkness for such work. The rebels must not know of our presence."

"Will there be any danger?" Jean enquired.

Dane smiled as he looked upon her sober face, and saw the anxious expression in her eyes.

"Nothing to worry about," he replied. "To some it might be a dangerous undertaking, but Pete and I have been at it so long that it has become almost second nature to us."

Jean said nothing more just then, but while her father and Dane talked, she whispered something to Mammy. At once the colored woman became very busy, and when at last Dane bade the Colonel good-bye, a basket filled with provisions was set before him.

"It's fo' yo' an' de Injun," Mammy explained. "I hope de Good Lo'd'll be wif yo', an' help yo' skedaddle dem rebels. But yo' can't do nuffin' wifout grub, Mistah Dane. No matt'r if yo' is in lub, yo' mus' eat to lib."

Dane smiled as he took the basket, and thanked the big-hearted woman.

"I shall not forget your kindness, Mammy," he told her. "And neither will Pete. He has a great memory for such things. Why, all the Indians along the river know already what you have done for his little child, and they will also hear of this."

The memory of that night never passed from Jean's mind. She accompanied Dane to the shore, and stood there for a few minutes after the two couriers had left, She knew that Dane loved her with all the strength of his manly nature, and she never felt this more than when he had held her in his arms and kissed her ere stepping into the canoe. She did not want him to go, and how unfortunate it was that the summons should come to him in the midst of the merry-making, and when she was so happy. A spirit of depression suddenly swept upon her, which was foreign to her nature. She tried to banish it even after she returned to the house. But neither the cheerfulness of the fire, nor the conversation with her father and Mammy could dispel the strange feeling of some impending calamity.



CHAPTER XII

PLOTTERS IN COUNCIL

Leaving Jean standing upon the shore, Dane settled down to work and headed the canoe for the main channel. His time of idleness was now over, and he knew that stern duty lay ahead. Although it was hard for him to go away from the girl he loved, yet the spirit of a new adventure thrilled his soul. It was a call, insistent, imperative, and never had he disobeyed the voice. To him danger was a tonic, and the great wild with all its mystery and uncertainty was his playground. His nature demanded activity, and the lure of something beyond was as breath to his being.

The bark canoe seemed like a thing of life as it cut through the water and the night, straight for the open. It trembled as with excitement, impelled by the strong arms wielding the paddles. It was well seasoned to such work. It was Pete's favourite craft, and it knew all the streams for leagues around. It had poked its nose into every creek, cove, and tributary of the St. John River from the Kennebacasis to the Shogomoc. It knew the windings of the Washademoak, and the rolling billows of windy Grand Lake had tested its endurance. It had battled with running ice; it had been borne over innumerable portages; and it had lain concealed in many secret places while enemies had sped by in the darkness but a few yards away. It bore the scars of ice, rocks, and bullets, and its long, lean body had been patched and repatched. But notwithstanding all these years of hardships, it was as eager now as the hardy men who drove it forward to rush into new adventures.

Steadily Dane and Pete urged the springing craft onward. Seldom did they speak, and hardly a sound did they make as their paddles dipped rhythmically into the cold water. The sky was overcast, and not a star was to be seen. No lights gleamed along the shore. They were completely enwrapped by night and silence, securely enfolded in Nature's great secret embrace.

Reaching at length the upper end of an island which divides the river, they ran the canoe ashore, rested, and ate some of the food Jean and Old Mammy had so thoughtfully prepared. They talked in low voices, and Pete explained the cause of his long absence, where he had been, and how for some time he had been trailing the rebels until he had at last discovered the place and night of meeting to arrange plans for united action.

"How did you know where I was?" Dane asked. "I didn't tell any one where I was going."

"Me know, a'right. Me know white woman. Me know Dane."

"You were sure that I couldn't keep away from her?"

"A-ha-ha."

"But I never did such a thing before, Pete. When did you ever know me to run after a woman?"

"Dane find good white woman. Dane mak' no mistake."

"I have made no mistake," was the emphatic reply. "I am glad you like her, Pete."

"White woman good; tak' care babby, all sam' mamma. Bimeby Pete——"

He suddenly paused, and laid his right hand upon his companion's arm. But Dane's ears were as keen as his own, and he, too, had heard the sound of an approaching canoe. It was coming down river, and in a few minutes it was abreast of them. Nothing could the two concealed men see, but as the strange craft was sweeping by, a voice broke the silence.

"Is everything ready?" was the question Dane heard asked.

"Yes, Seth's looking after the plans," came a reply.

Nothing more could Dane distinguish, although he strained his ears to hear something further. To him that canoe speeding through the night, and the words he had overheard, had a sinister meaning. That it was Seth Lupin to whom reference had been made, there could be no doubt. So the villain was still lurking around. What were the plans he was looking after? Had they anything to do with Jean? He believed they had, and the thought caused him to give the canoe a savage thrust from the shore, which sent it reeling back into midstream, He must get through with this task, and then hurry as quickly as possible to the girl he loved. But who were the ones in the canoe? From their words he felt sure that they were white men. In what way were they connected with Seth Lupin, and whither were they bound?

He thought of all this as the canoe moved swiftly up the river, and he racked his brains in an effort to solve the problem of the plans Seth was looking after. He questioned Pete closely, but the Indian had not seen the villain nor heard anything about him.

In about an hour's time they came to a narrow channel which connected the river with a lake-like body of water several miles in extent, and known by the Indians as the "Wedneebak." Here they ran the canoe ashore, drew it out of the water and carried it up the bank and a short distance into the forest. Breaking off some fir boughs, they made for themselves beds upon the ground. Then taking off their jackets, they placed them over their bodies, and, lulled by the wind among the tree-tops, they were soon fast asleep.

Early dawn found them both awake, and watching with the keenest interest the narrow entrance to the Wedneebak. They ate sparingly of the food from the basket, hoping to make it last throughout the day. The morning was cold, but they did not dare to light a fire lest it should betray their presence. They took turns in watching the river and in moving about, so in this manner they were able to keep fairly warm.

During the morning Dane made a trip to a hill some distance inland, where from the upper branches of a large tree he obtained an excellent view of the upper stretch of the Wedneebak. He wished to learn if any of the rebels had already arrived for the council. From this elevated position his eyes scanned the shore, and soon detected several wreaths of smoke curling up into the air. How many men were there he could not tell, as the crowding trees hid them from view. He wondered if the pow-wow had already begun, or were the men waiting for others to arrive? He longed to go down to the shore, creep up close, and spy upon the rebels. This, however, he knew would be foolish, as it would be impossible in broad daylight to approach near enough to learn anything of importance. No, he must wait until night.

Pete was much pleased when Dane returned and told of the discovery he had made.

"Good, good," he said. "Plenty canoe come bimeby."

"But perhaps they are all there now," Dane suggested.

"No, more come bimeby. See 'm soon."

And in this the Indian was right, for as the day wore away, and darkness once more began to steal over the land, the canoes began to arrive. There were a dozen in all, and each contained a number of men, some of whom were Indians. They all came down river, entered the narrow channel, and sped up the Wedneebak.

As the last canoe disappeared around a bend, Dane and Pete slipped away from their place of watching. They moved rapidly through the forest, and hardly a sound did they make as they advanced. Their ears and eyes were keenly alert, for they were well aware that the critical time had now arrived, and that much depended upon their caution.

The darkness had now deepened, and no trail guided their steps. But to them this mattered little. The forest was their home, and their course was as unerring as birds in their flight or beasts in search of prey. A life-long training to one, and years to the other had developed the sense of instinct which always served when sight and hearing were of little or no avail.

And this stood them in good stead now, for when others would have detected nothing, they suddenly stopped dead in their tracks, dropped upon their hands and knees, and crept cautiously forward. Never did panthers move more warily than did those two human sleuth-hounds approach the unsuspecting men gathered from various places for the important council. From creeping they dropped into crawling, with their bodies close to the ground. In this manner they ere long came near the water, and not far from where the rebels were assembled. Here, concealed by night and a thick clump of small fir bushes, they were able to watch all that was taking place, and to hear every word uttered.

Ever since Pete had brought him word of this council a great fear had been tugging at Dane's heart. He said nothing, however, about it to his companion, but as he rapidly and anxiously scanned the faces of the men gathered about the big main fire, he breathed a sigh of relief. The one he feared might be present was not there. A weight was now lifted from his mind, so he felt in a better mood to spy upon the band before him.

He knew them all, Indians, English-speaking renegades from New England, and half-breeds. It was a motley gathering, and as he listened to the drifting conversation before the actual pow-wow began, he realised how bitter was the hatred to the English that rankled strong in every breast. The half-breeds had an old score to settle, and this was another desperate attempt on their part to arouse the dissatisfied natives against the Loyalists.

For a time it was an orderly gathering, and as the men ate of the abundance of food which had been provided, they talked in a quiet manner. But when the rum, of which there seemed to be no end, was passed around all became more talkative. They harangued, cursed, and wrangled with one another until it appeared to the concealed watchers that the whole affair would end in a fizzle. But Flazeet, the half-breed leader, seemed to be perfectly satisfied, and at times a grim smile overspread his dark brutal face.

Leaping at length to his feet, he ordered his companions to be silent. When he spoke in such a peremptory tone, they knew that it was well for them to obey, so after a little grumbling they settled down to listen to what he had to say.

Flazeet understood the Indian language, and was also well acquainted with the natives, so it was to them he now addressed his words. He told them first of all of the greatness of their race, and that the Great Spirit had given to their forefathers the land on which they lived. It was theirs, and no one had any right to take it from them. But strangers were coming in, and King George was going to take their hunting-grounds away and give them to others. And who were these newcomers? They were people who had been driven out of their own country for their badness. They had fought against the great white chief, George Washington, who had been so good to the Indians, and had sent them many presents during the war. These strangers had been defeated, and thousands of them had already arrived in ships, and were coming up the river to take possession of the hunting-grounds. The Indians would be driven out. They would die, because the newcomers would kill all the moose, deer, and caribou, cut down the trees, and destroy the fish on the various streams. These were some of the things they would do, and the Indians would have no hunting-grounds, so they, their wives and their children would starve. Would the Indians allow this? Would they let these bad men come in and take their lands? No, they must fight, drive these people out, and keep the country which was theirs by right. And now was the time to fight, before too many strangers arrived.

This in brief was Flazeet's long harangue. It made a deep impression upon the Indians, and they voiced their sentiments by occasional grunts of approval. So excited did several become when the speech was ended, that they leaped to their feet, and inflamed by the words and the rum, they were ready to march at once against the strangers. But Flazeet told them to wait, as the newcomers were many and well armed. It would be necessary to move slowly, and to be very careful. And, besides, there were Indians who would stand by the treaty which had been made with King George at the mouth of the river, and they would have to fight against them. This matter must be kept a profound secret, and when they did attack, it must be swift and deadly.

With considerable difficulty Flazeet managed to calm the warlike natives. Then more rum was passed around, followed by much talking and squabbling. All this was most gratifying to Flazeet, and especially interesting to the two couriers concealed among the bushes. Pete's great body quivered with excitement, and Dane could hardly control himself. How he longed for a score of tested men, that he might spring upon the rebels, and give them the surprise of their lives.

When at length the excitement had subsided, Gab Rauchad rose slowly to his feet. He was a wiry little half-breed, with a cunning, fox-like face. He spoke in French, and he addressed himself chiefly to his own people. He took them back to the expulsion of the Acadians by the English in 1755, a tale old and yet ever new. In vivid language he described the happy condition of the Acadians at Grand Pre, the lands they had cleared, and the peaceful lives they led. Then came the English monsters, broke up their domestic hearths, confiscated their property, and drove them from the country. He described in detail the privations the expelled Acadians endured, how they wandered from place to place, and the ills which overtook them.

For some time he spoke, and every word told of the burning rage which filled his heart. His hatred to the English was intense, and he declared that the time of vengeance had now arrived. With the aid of the Indians they would serve the newcomers as their fool of a king had served the Acadians. He became greatly excited as he talked, dancing about, waving his arms, and shrieking forth words of defiance and revenge. He cursed King George and the English in general, and called upon all present to unite now in a great effort to free the land from the newcomers, and to hold it for the expelled Acadians and the Indians who were their brothers and comrades in distress.

All this was hard for Dane to endure, and as he listened his nimble mind was forming some definite plan of action. That it must be immediate he was well aware, as no doubt these rebels would not be long in carrying out their evil and treacherous designs upon the newcomers. His mind naturally turned to Jean. Suppose that band of men before him should sweep down unexpectedly upon the little settlement below Oak Point, how much mercy would they be likely to grant the Loyalists? He imagined what would be the fate of the women, especially Jean and other maidens. He shuddered as he thought of Joe Flazeet and his companions gloating over their victims.

"The English took the lands of the Acadians at Grand Pre because they wanted them for themselves." It was Rauchad speaking, and he was appealing to the Indians as Flazeet had done to the half-breeds. "And as they took those lands, so they will take your hunting grounds and drive you out. The Acadians had happy homes; what have they now? Nothing. They had plenty; now they are starving. And who did this? King George, our mortal enemy. France and England are now at war. But France will win, and this land will belong to us once again, and then the Indians will be well treated, and we will all live as one brother. Let us do our part now in fighting for the good King of France."

His words met with much approval, and when he had ended, Flazeet arose and outlined the plan of attack. This was just what Dane was waiting to hear, and he missed not a single word. He was greatly excited, and he controlled himself with difficulty as he listened to Flazeet. The Loyalists down river were to be wiped out first of all, especially those below Oak Point and at Kingston Creek. They would then move rapidly up river and have the entire country conquered ere assistance could reach the newcomers from Fort Howe. It would be a clean sweep of the objectionable strangers, and what could Major Studholme do with the few men under his command?

When Dane had gained all the information that was necessary, he touched Pete on the shoulder, and in another minute they were away from the scene of wild revelry which had now begun. It did not take them long to reach the narrow channel, and launch their canoe. This they headed up stream, and with strong arms drove it through the water, straight for Oromocto miles beyond.



CHAPTER XIII

THE KING'S RANGERS

Several days had passed in quiet contentment at the little settlement of Loyal after Dane's departure. Jean missed him very much and longed for his return. The evenings were now dark and cool, so as she and her father sat before the fire they often talked about the absent one, and wondered what could be detaining him. Neighbours at times joined them, and discussed the possibility of an attack by the Indians and the slashers. But the Colonel scoffed at such an idea. He maintained that the natives were at peace with the English, and would not be aroused by the rebels to molest the Loyalists.

Each day anxious eyes were turned upon the river, hoping to see the white sails of the Polly bearing up stream. Captain Leavitt had promised to return before winter to bring the needed supplies for the long, hard months ahead.

Something, however, at length occurred which diverted their attention from the Polly, and gave them considerable concern. This was the arrival of several canoes filled with men. There were a score of men in all, and they received a most hearty welcome. The leader was William Davidson, the King's purveyor, who, with several others, was entertained at supper by the Colonel and his daughter. That evening a bonfire was built upon the shore, and around this the visitors and most of the people of the settlement gathered. It was a pleasant assembly, even though the night was cool. A liberal supply of Jamaica rum was passed around, and this was supposed to add greatly to the comfort of all.

Jean sat by her father's side, deeply interested in all that was taking place. Her heart was light, for Davidson had told her that Dane would be with her in a day or two. He and Pete were at present away on special business, the nature of which he did not say. Jean liked the looks of these visitors. They were all hardy, keen, well-built, and fearless-eyed rangers in the service of their King. They had to be all that, for their leader would employ no others. But they were full of life and spirit when they met together, and many were the stories told of their various adventures. This night, notwithstanding the seriousness of the business which lay ahead, they were like a number of boys just out of school. It was something new to them to meet so many interesting strangers such as they found at Loyal.

William Davidson was a worthy leader of such a band of men, and they held him in the highest regard. He was a man in the prime of life, and had led a stirring career. Coming from Scotland, he had settled on the Miramichi River, where for a time he engaged in the fishery and fur trade. During the war his Indian neighbours, incited by certain rebels, made his life so unbearable that he was forced to flee to the St. John River where he settled near the mouth of the Oromocto River. Even here he could not find peace, for the following summer he was plundered by the Indians, who took all his goods upon which they could lay their hands. Davidson was a marked man owing to his loyalty to King George, and the rebels here also aroused the natives against him. Little wonder, then, that when he was appointed the King's purveyor in supplying masts for His Majesty's navy that the hostility between him and the rebels, as well as many Indians, still continued.

But Davidson was a man not easily daunted. His courage, combined with his cool judgment, was well known all along the river. And since his entrance into the King's service he had given many outstanding proofs of his bravery and ability. He was quick to act, but never more so than when Dane Norwood brought him word at Oromocto of the plot against the Loyalists.

When he at length rose to speak, all talking ceased, and the people of the settlement felt that they were now to learn the reason of the rangers' presence in their midst. And neither were they mistaken. After Davidson had thanked them for their kindly reception, he told them of the danger which threatened their homes, and perhaps their lives. He mentioned the council which had been held on the shore of the Wedneebak, and how Dane Norwood and Pete, the Indian, had brought him the news. He and his men had accordingly hastened down river as fast as possible to ask the men of Loyal to join them in overcoming and putting the plotters to rout.

"But why should they attack us?" the Colonel asked when Davidson had ended. "They do not know us, and we have never harmed them."

"Simply because you are loyal to King George," was the reply. "The half-breeds, who are descended from the Acadians, think they have a great grievance against England for expelling their forefathers from Grand Pre in 1755. During the war they made no end of trouble, and did their best to stir up the Indians to rebellion. I know only too well what they did, for they drove me from my home on the Miramichi, and caused me a great deal of annoyance up river. They are at their old tricks again, and this is their last hope.

"But have they not reason for being angry at what England did to their forefathers at Grand Pre?" Henry Watson, a Loyalist, asked. "We have heard much about that transaction, and it was all very unfavourable to England. Perhaps there is another side to the story."

"Indeed there is," Davidson replied, "although it is very difficult to separate the truth from the fiction. It was a very sad affair, and it is a pity that it ever happened. Perhaps England made a mistake and acted hastily, but we must consider how serious was the situation when the expulsion took place. Sentiment has played an important part, and the thought of thousands of people deprived of their lands, and driven out to wander as exiles in strange countries has naturally stirred many hearts."

"But were the Acadians disloyal?" the Colonel asked. "We have been told that they were not, and that all were punished for the indiscretions of a few."

"That may be so," and Davidson looked thoughtfully before him. "But the English contend that when the Acadians settled on their lands over forty years before it was with the distinct understanding that they could only retain them by becoming British subjects. But they had not complied with those terms. The English contend that the Acadians did everything in their power to assist the French and embarrass the English. Many of them joined with the Indians in the attacks on the garrison at Annapolis, and on other English fortified posts. They supplied England's enemies with cattle and grain at Louisbourg, Beausejour, and elsewhere. They acted the part of spies on the English, and maintained a constant correspondence with the French. They were on friendly terms with the Indians, who were such a menace to the English that an English settler could scarcely venture beyond his barn, or a soldier beyond musket shot of his fort for fear of being killed or scalped. That is the English version of the affair which I heard in Halifax. The Acadians deny it, and say it is all false."

"We heard," one of the settlers said, "that the Acadians were expelled because the greedy English colonists looked upon their fair farms with covetous eyes, and that the government was influenced by these persons."

"I have heard that, too," Davidson replied, "and I have made enquiries about that matter. But I do not believe it is true, because those abandoned farms were not settled by the English until years after the Acadians were expelled, and the lands at Annapolis were not occupied until nine or ten years after the French had left them. Why did not the English colonists settle upon those abandoned farms at once, if they were so anxious to have them? They did nothing of the kind, so I do not think that had anything to do with the expulsion."

"What was the real cause, then?" Henry Watson asked.

"It was the seriousness of the whole situation. England was just entering upon a great war with France. It was a death-struggle, so there was no room for half-way measures. Feeling ran high, and the English may have become panicky. There was a bitter hatred, too, which may have had something to do with it. The English believed that with so many concealed enemies in the country, and such a large number of open enemies on the borders, their position was far from secure. They thought that the Acadians were beginning to show their real feelings, especially so whenever a rumour reached them that a French fleet was in the Bay of Fundy. Anyway, they at last became so much worked up that they ordered the Acadians to give up the arms they had in their possession, and to take the oath of allegiance to King George. Refusing to take the oath, the Acadians were expelled. You now know both sides of the pathetic affair. The story of the expelled people is generally believed, partly, no doubt, for sentimental reasons. The English may have acted hastily and unwisely, but they contend that there was nothing else to do under the circumstances."

"So some of those expelled people came here, and are now trying to make trouble for us; is that it?" the Colonel asked.

"Some of them are. Others are living very quietly, and behaving themselves in a proper manner. But there are several very bitter and unscrupulous agitators, chief of whom are the half breeds, Flazeet and Rauchad, who will stop at almost nothing. They are full of hatred and long for revenge. They have not only drawn with them a number of lawless Acadians, and English-speaking traitors, but they are now inducing too many Indians to unite with them. I have suspected them for some time, and watch has been kept upon their movements. They have been plotting all summer, and now they are about to act. But thanks to our couriers, Dane Norwood, and Pete, the Indian, I know of their plans. We are, therefore, here to ask you to assist us. Others, we believe, will come to our aid, so we should be able to put the rebels to rout without much difficulty."

The conversation now became general. The Loyalists were thoroughly aroused, and all the men agreed to help the rangers against the enemy. Davidson did not explain what he intended to do, but asked all to trust him for the present. With this the Loyalists were satisfied, and they went back to their houses to make preparations for their march against the rebels.

Davidson and his men slept upon the ground that night, wrapped in their blankets. This had been their life for years, so they thought nothing of it. These rangers who knew every trail and stream in the country, were at home wherever night overtook them. Possessions they had none. A life of indolence and ease they despised. The spirit of adventure animated their souls, and their only creed was loyalty to King George. With such men Davidson wielded a strong influence in a region where the King's regular forces could not penetrate. It was largely due to such bands of men that England's prestige was maintained in the heart of the wilderness.



CHAPTER XIV

WHERE THE RANGERS LED

The next day there was considerable stir at the settlement. The women were busy cooking, while the men spent some time cleaning their muskets and "running" bullets. All felt anxious, and serious faces were seen among the Loyalists. Old Mammy was greatly disturbed, and Jean found it difficult to calm her fears.

"Why, Mammy, you never made such a fuss all during the war when daddy was in danger every day," the girl chided.

"Ah, chile, dat was different. Yer daddy was fightin' white men den. But dese are Injuns, an' dey'll scalp de wounded, an' den tie 'em to a tree an' burn 'em alive. Den dey'll come an' carry off de women fo' wives. I'll die befo' I'll be de wife of any ol' Injun, I sure will."

"Don't you worry, Mammy," Jean assured. "The Indians are not going to come here. The rangers and our men will be able to handle them. I am not one bit afraid."

As the shades of evening were stealing over the land, the men gathered for their march against the enemy. They were a formidable band, and Davidson was much pleased as he watched them fall into line. The Colonel had charge of the little squad of Loyalists, and his old spirit possessed him as he drilled and instructed them for a few minutes in front of his house. The rangers watched this performance with interest, and smiled indulgently.

"I am afraid that won't do much good in wilderness warfare," Davidson reminded. "General Braddock tried it, and you know what happened. However, I am hoping that there will be no fighting, so it won't make much difference."

Half an hour later the men were swinging on their way through the woods. No one spoke, and all walked as warily as possible. As night shut down travelling became more difficult for the men of the settlement, although the rangers seemed as much at home in the darkness as in the daylight. For over two and a half hours they moved steadily forward, and at length stopped by the side of a little brook which flowed down to the river. Here they rested and ate some of the food which they had brought with them. They had not been long here ere a low whistle sounded up the valley. Davidson at once replied, and a few minutes later soft approaching footsteps were heard. Then a dim form emerged from the darkness, and stood in their midst.