"I am glad to see you on time, Dane," Davidson accosted. "How many men did you get?"

"Twenty-five," was the reply. "Pete is bringing them up. I slipped on ahead to see if things are all right."

"Yes, everything is working well so far. Have you found out anything new?"

"Nothing except that some of the rebels have gathered at Pine Lake, and others are expected to-morrow. Pete and I were trailing them to-day, and it was rare sport."

"I hope you were careful, Dane."

"We are always careful, though it wasn't necessary to-day. The Indians were quite cautious, but some of the white men lumbered along like oxen, cursing and complaining at a great rate. Flazeet and Rauchad had quite a time with them, and kept encouraging them with promises of rum and the fun they would have with the Loyalists."

"They'll get a different kind of fun from what they expect," Davidson replied. "And the more rum they swig, the better it will be for us. How far is it from here to the lake?"

"About five miles in a straight course. We can do it easily in an hour and a half."

"Oh, you could do it all right in that time, and less, for that matter. But all here are not so well accustomed to the woods at night. Isn't that so, Colonel?"

"It certainly is," was the emphatic reply. "I shall need two or three hours, for I find the walking very difficult. And, besides, one has to be careful not to make any noise."

"Whatever noise we make will not trouble the rebels," and Davidson laughed. "They'll be sleeping as sound as babies by daylight."

In a short time Pete arrived with the recruits from Kingston, and they were given a hearty welcome. It was a glad meeting for the Loyalists, and they spent several hours in earnest conversation about their various affairs, and exchanging bits of information concerning the old homes they had left. The men from Kingston described the progress they were making in clearing their lands, and building their houses.

Several small fires had been started, and around these the men gathered. The night was cool, and a stiff wind from the northwest swayed the tops of the great trees. Had it not been for the serious business upon which they were bent, the Loyalists would have enjoyed the outing immensely. But the thought of what lay ahead was ever with them. There was something uncanny about this camping-spot in the forest, and they often glanced apprehensively toward the walls of blackness which surrounded them. They were not cowards, for their courage had been fully proved in many a hard fight. Even the Colonel felt somewhat depressed as the night wore on. It seemed weird and unnatural, this mode of warfare against a skulking enemy. If he could only lead his men against the rebels out in the open it would have been different. But this waiting for hours, and with no apparent method of attack, was hard for him to endure.

The rangers, on the other hand, did not mind it in the least. This was their life, and they took it as a matter of course. Dane, especially, was at his ease. He was glad of the rest, as he had been on the move all day. But he was anxious to get through with the job that he might return to Jean. He had asked the Colonel about her, and they had talked apart for some time.

"I hope she is not too much distressed over this affair," he said.

"She is naturally worried," was the reply. "But she has great confidence in the rangers—and in you," he added after a slight pause. "I agree with her, and feel greatly indebted to you and Pete for what you have done. I hope we may be able to settle the rebels once and for all."

"I don't think there is any doubt about it. So far, our plans have worked without a hitch, and Davidson is an old reliable hand at such work. Strategy with him is the main thing, and it has proven useful on many occasions ere this. He always avoids bloodshed as far as possible."

It was a great relief to the weary Loyalists when Davidson at last bestirred himself, and told all to get ready for the march to the lake. The band was at once divided into five groups, each containing several rangers, who were well acquainted with their leader's plans. Dane stayed close by the Colonel, carried his musket, and assisted him when his steps lagged. It was a slow, toilsome journey through the forest on that cold, frosty morning. There were hills to climb, and swamps to cross. It would have been hard work even in the daytime, but night added to the difficulty of the undertaking. The Loyalists, not accustomed to such travelling, often stumbled and tripped over stones and snags. But the rangers walked as if on a beaten highway, and proved of great assistance to the less skilful. No one complained, however, and when any one spoke, it was in a subdued voice. The Colonel strove bravely to hold his own with the younger men. But he was becoming very weary, and more than once he leaned on Dane's arm for support.

"I am sorry to burden you" he said, "but this trip is almost too much for me."

"I am afraid it is," was the reply. "You should have stayed at home and let us attend to the rebels."

"I suppose I should have done that," and the Colonel sighed as he paused for a minute on the brow of a hill they had just climbed. "But I want to do my part. I did it during the war to the best of my ability. Jean was proud of me then, and I do not want her to be ashamed of me now."

Dane was about to reply when a slight sound from one of the rangers sealed his lips. He knew that it spelled danger, and that caution was needed.

"We are close to the lake," he whispered. "It is just over there. We are to remain here for a while."

The men were glad enough to rest, so throwing themselves down upon the ground, they refreshed themselves with some food. Anxiously they awaited the coming of the dawn, and through a break in the trees they often turned their eyes eastward. At length the far-off horizon rose slowly into view, the darkness began to melt away, and objects about them grew more distinct. This was the signal for them to continue their journey, and once again they set their faces toward the lake. It was easier travelling now, and seldom did any one stumble. This was well, for the strictest silence had to be maintained as they neared their goal. They were walking in single file, and the rangers were doubly alert, peering here and there, and listening to every sound.

At length they separated, Dane going alone with the Colonel somewhat to the right. Each ranger took one or two of the settlers, and in another minute all had disappeared among the trees. Dane led the Colonel slowly along, until presently an opening appeared before them.

"It is the lake," Dane whispered. "We must creep now to the edge of the woods, and keep ourselves well hidden."

Dropping upon their hands and knees, they worked their way along until they came right to the border of the forest. Here they stopped, and by the dim light of the morning they could see before them a band of men lying upon the shore, wrapped in their blankets. There were fifty or more, including Indians, and they were sound asleep.

"We've got them this time, all right," Dane again whispered. "Here is your gun; you may need it. We must now wait for Davidson to make the next move."

It was a beautiful spot which the rebels had chosen for their place of meeting. The lake was not large, but it lay like a gem amidst its setting of great dark pines. The shore where the plotters were lying was sandy, and from all appearance they had spent much of the night in a wild carousal. They were huddled in various grotesque shapes, and several were snoring loudly.

In about fifteen minutes a sound, scarcely audible, was heard near Dane's side, and glancing around, he saw Davidson creeping toward him.

"The trap is all set," the leader whispered as he came close. "It only waits to be sprung."

"Are the men all arranged?" Dane asked.

"They are in fine order, and all in line, only a few feet from one another. The Loyalists caught on in no time. I am surprised that the rebels are all asleep. It's a wonder they didn't place some one on guard."

"I believe they did. Look," and Dane motioned to a huddled form somewhat apart from the others. "There is the guard, but the rum must have affected him like it did the rest. Anyway, they were not suspicious, and had no idea that their plot was known."

"Now get ready," Davidson ordered. "We must round up this bunch before any more arrive."

Then from his lips sounded forth a clear peculiar whistle. Almost immediately wild yells from a score of rangers rent the air, followed by ringing cheers of defiance. Dazed and startled, a number of rebels threw aside their blankets, scrambled to their knees, and looked around. Flazeet and Rauchad were the first to comprehend the situation. Yelling to their still sleeping comrades, they leaped to their feet, and were about to seize their muskets, when Davidson sternly ordered them to desist.

"Hands up," he commanded.

The ringleaders instantly obeyed, for they at once recognised the King's purveyor, the one man they so greatly feared. But one dare-devil rebel sprang for his gun a few feet away. He never reached it, however, for from the border of the forest two muskets spoke, and he crumpled in his tracks upon the sand. This was sufficient warning to the rest, and all now awake stood sullenly and silently staring hard at their captors who had come into full view.

"Get over there, and be quick about it," Davidson ordered, motioning to the left.

The rebels at once obeyed, and standing huddled together, awaited further developments. Most of the men had no heart for any opposition, even if they had the opportunity. They had been promised plenty of rum, a good time, and no end of fun with the Loyalists. Such a disastrous outcome as this had been far from their minds. The Indians now realised that they had been led into a trap, and their hearts were full of rage, more against their leaders than their captors. But Flazeet and Rauchad were not in the least repentant. Their eyes and faces expressed their anger and hatred as they watched Davidson coming toward them.

"What is the meaning of all this?" the purveyor asked.

"It's none of your business," Flazeet replied with a savage oath.

"I've made it my business, though, and so have the men with me." A smile lurked about the corners of Davidson's mouth as he watched the confounded rebels. "You didn't expect this, Joe, did you?"

"And why should I? Why can't we meet here without being disturbed? What right have you to come upon us like this? What do you want, anyway?"

"I want you and a few others, and you know very well what for, so don't begin any nonsense."

"This is an outrage," Flazeet stormed. "I always thought this was a free country, where men can meet together if they want to without being held up like this."

"It is a free country, Joe, and we are trying to keep it so. But when men start plotting against peaceable people, they must be restrained. That is the reason why we are here."

"Do you mean to say that we are plotters?"

"Yes, and the meanest kind at that. You have been stirring up the Indians and others for some time. You will be surprised, no doubt, to know that every word that you and Rauchad uttered at your big council by the Wedneebak was overheard and reported to me. I know what you said to the Acadians and the Indians who were there that night, and how you cursed King George. You planned to wipe out the Loyalists, though that was easier said than done."

Flazeet and Rauchad stared dumbfounded at the speaker. Their rage was changing now to a nameless fear. They thought of that night by the Wedneebak when they imagined that only those concerned in the plot were present. Had they been betrayed by one of their number? they asked themselves. They could not believe it, for they had kept in close touch with all the men ever since. There must have been spies surrounding them that night, and this thought sent cold chills up and down their spines, causing their faces to turn a ghastly hue.

Davidson noted their confusion, and smiled. He knew that they were greatly puzzled, and it pleased him. The Acadians and Indians were deeply impressed, and showed it by the expressions of fear and awe upon their faces. Their respect for the King's purveyor had always been great, but they considered him now as more than human. That he knew of every word which had been spoken at their council by the Wedneebak, was beyond their comprehension. That they were completely cowed, Davidson knew. He turned to the Indians and addressed them in their own language. He told them how their false leaders had led them into trouble, and caused them to rebel against King George's people. But if they were willing to behave themselves, he would let them go. He wished to take only the ringleaders with him, and hand them over to Major Studholme at Fort Howe.

"King George will treat you well," he said in conclusion. "There is plenty of land for both you and the white people. You will still have your hunting-grounds, so you and your families will have plenty of food. But if you listen to such men as Flazeet and Rauchad here, and make any more trouble, King George will send soldiers as many as the trees of the forest, and will drive you all out. He does not want to do that. He is anxious to be your great chief, and help you. Are you willing to obey him?"

When Davidson had ended, he waited until the Indians had consulted one another. Then their chief speaker stepped forward, and declared that from henceforth he and the Indians with him would be loyal to King George and make no more trouble. The Acadians also gave a reluctant assent. But as these latter were few, and were by no means representative of the loyal Acadians in the land, Davidson was little concerned about what they said. He was chiefly anxious to have the Indians on his side. The slashers were becoming very troublesome up river, and he wanted to keep the natives from joining them against the King's mast-cutters. By breaking up this band of rebels, he believed that much had been accomplished.

"I am going to treat you well," he told the Indians and Acadians. "I am going to give you back your guns and let all of you go except your leaders here and two or three more. When you have buried that man over there, go home and be forever thankful that you have got out of this trouble as well as you have."



CHAPTER XV

THE LINE IN THE SAND

Taking with them the two ringleaders and two other rebels as witnesses, the victors marched back to the settlement. There was no need for secrecy now, so the forest re-echoed with shouts, laughter and songs of the care-free rangers. They were somewhat disappointed at the outcome of the affair, as they longed for a fight with the plotters. But down in their hearts they knew that Davidson had taken the wisest course in dealing with the Indians. With Flazeet and Rauchad out of the way, they felt certain that the gang would give no further trouble.

The Colonel found it impossible to keep up with his companions, so he and Dane walked more slowly some distance in the rear. It was difficult for the young courier to restrain his steps, as he longed to speed like the wind to the one he believed was anxiously awaiting his coming. But he would not leave the Colonel who was weary after his trying experience.

"This has been too much for me," the latter confessed, as he paused and rested for a few minutes. "I am sorry to detain you, for I know how you long to be on ahead with the others. It is good of you to stay with me."

"Don't you remember our agreement?" Dane asked.

"What agreement?"

"The one we made out in the hills, of course, that 'While the grass grows, the sun shines, and the water flows we will be friends.' Friends help one another, do they not? Although I am anxious to get to the settlement, yet I could not think of leaving you to lose yourself in the woods. I would never forgive myself, and what would Jean think of me?"

"She thinks a great deal of you now, young man, and I believe you are worthy of her regard."

"I hope I am, and for her sake, at least, I am glad that my life has been clean. I have travelled in strange ways, and lived at times among base and vicious men, but I have always kept myself apart from their evil doings. I owe it all to my mother's teaching and influence."

"She must have been a noble woman," the Colonel remarked, as he resumed his journey.

"She was," Dane replied, "and I know of but one who resembles her. You know to whom I refer. Until I met Jean, I thought that my mother was the only one who reached my ideal of what a woman should be. Since meeting her, I have been very happy. Without her, the world would be very dreary to me. But perhaps you cannot fully understand what I mean."

"I understand better than you imagine," was the quiet reply. "When I say that Jean is just like her mother, you can be assured that I understand exactly what you mean."

The Colonel was very tired when he at length reached the settlement. He and Dane were both surprised at the silence which reigned about the place. They had expected to hear sounds of the rangers and others making merry over the success of their march against the rebels. But everything was as quiet as a funeral, causing an ominous feeling to steal into their hearts. Had anything of a serious nature happened during their absence? they asked themselves, although they did not express their thought in words. What was the meaning of those little groups of men and women talking so earnestly? And why was Davidson advancing alone to meet them? Something surely was wrong.

As, Davidson approached, they noted the serious expression upon his face. The Colonel stopped, and with fast-beating heart waited for the purveyor to speak.

"We have been watching for you," Davidson began. "I am afraid you are very tired."

"I am somewhat weary," the Colonel replied. "But, tell me, is anything the matter? What is the meaning of this strange quietness? And why do you meet us like this?"

"We are anxious about your daughter," Davidson explained. "She has been missing since last night."

At these words a cry escaped Dane's lips, and he wheeled impetuously upon his leader. But the Colonel did not utter a sound. His face grew white as death, and his body trembled. He stared at the ranger as if he had not heard aright. Then he raised his left hand, and pressed it to his forehead.

"You say that Jean is missing?" Dane asked. "What has happened to her? Tell me, quick."

"Yes, she has disappeared, and no one here knows what has become of her."

With a groan Dane looked beseechingly at Davidson.

"Surely some one must have seen her," he declared. "Was she alone? Was she out on the water? Was she in the woods? Perhaps she is lost, and is wandering about trying to find her way home."

"That is not it, Dane. She was visiting at one of the houses early last night, and stayed for about an hour. She left there for home, and has not been seen since."

Dane made no reply. His brain was in a tumult. He tried to think, to find some solution to the problem. Jean was gone! Where had she gone? What had happened to her? His thoughts suddenly darted to Lupin, the cowardly villain. Then he recalled what he had heard a few nights before on the river as that mysterious canoe sped by in the darkness. "Seth's looking after the plans," were the final words which had reached his ears. Had those plans anything to do with Jean's disappearance? he asked himself. Forgotten was everything else as with lightning rapidity these thoughts surged through his mind. He came to himself with a start, and was surprised to see that the Colonel had left him, and was with Davidson at the door of his own house. He hurried after him, and entered the house just as the bereaved father dropped upon a seat near the table, and buried his face in his hands. He went to his side and laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"I will find Jean," he said. "Don't get too much discouraged."

"You will find Jean?" the Colonel eagerly asked. "Have you any idea where she is?"

"I do not know, but Pete and I will find her."

At these words Old Mammy lifted her bowed head. She had been swaying to and fro, and moaning in the most doleful manner.

"Oh, Mistah Dane, find Missie Jean," she pleaded. "Bring back my sweet lamb. I'se 'fraid de Injuns or bears has toted her off. Oh! oh! oh! What will I do wifout my darlin' chile!"

"We will find her, Mammy, never fear," Dane comforted. "Get some food ready, and Pete and I will begin the search at once."

"I'll have it ready fo' yo' in a jiffy, Mistah Dane," and the old woman toddled to her feet. "I'se been cookin' all day fo' I knew de men would come back wif big ap'tites. I'll put up 'nuff to las' yo' fo' a week."

In another minute the faithful servant was busy filling a capacious basket with the good things she had stored away in the cupboard. Dane turned to Davidson, who had been talking with the Colonel.

"Where is Pete?" he asked. "I have not seen him since coming back."

"He is down on the shore," was the reply. "He went there as soon as he heard the news, and has been there ever since."

Dane walked to the door and looked out. Down among the trees he saw the Indian, moving slowly around, with eyes intent upon the ground. Leaving the house, Dane hurried across the open, and he had almost reached the native when the latter dropped upon his hands and knees, and examined something he had just discovered.

"Have you found anything?" Dane asked.

"A-ha-ha," Pete replied, lifting his head, and holding forth a tiny shred of cloth.

Dane seized it and examined it most carefully, while his heart gave a great bound.

"It is a piece of Jean's dress!" he exclaimed. "I would know it among a thousand. Where did you find it?"

"On dat," and the Indian laid his hand upon a sharp-pointed prong which jutted out from the great root of a fallen tree. "White woman carried off, eh?"

"It seems like it, Pete. Her dress must have caught on that snag. Have you found anything else?"

"A-ha-ha. Injun track, see," and he pointed to the ground just in front of him.

Dane stooped and without much difficulty he was able to discern the imprint of a moccasined-foot where it had pressed a small mound of sand. He straightened himself up and looked around.

"Any more such tracks, Pete?"

"A-ha-ha, down on shore. Canoe come dere. Injun carry off white woman, eh?"

"There is no doubt about it. And we've got to find her. Are you ready to help me?"

"A-ha-ha, Pete ready. Pete get canoe, eh?"

"All right, and I'll be with you in a few minutes."

Half an hour later Pete's canoe, the old reliable, which the rangers had brought back to the settlement, was again headed up river. Dane sat astern and drove his paddle into the water with the force of a Titan. He had been greatly stirred at times in the past, but never such as now. The blood surged madly through his veins, and the muscles of his bared arms stood out like whips of steel. He thought of the cowardly attack upon the helpless girl, the one he loved better than life. Where was she now? Perhaps already she had become the victim of Seth Lupin. The idea was horrible, and his paddle bent as the glittering blade carved the water. But the base Lupin should not escape. He would track him, if necessary, to the farthest bounds. He would find him, and when he had found him . . .

The sun of the now shortened day dipped below the far-off western horizon. A chilly breeze drifted up with the tide. Gradually the trees along the shore became indistinct. The stars tumbled out one by one. Silence reigned on water and land. But still the canoe sped noiselessly onward. Not once had Dane spoken to the Indian; his mind was too much occupied with other things. The picture of a white head bowed with grief as he had last seen it at the settlement, rose before him. What agony of soul was that silent man now undergoing. He emitted a slight groan, which caused Pete to glance quickly around.

"Dane seek, eh?" he queried.

"Not sick, Pete; only mad. I'm in hell."

"A-ha-ha, me know. Bad, eh?"

Dane's only reply was a more vigorous stroke than ever, which caused the canoe to quiver as it leaped forward. He was too much excited as yet to form any definite line of action. He thought only of the Indian encampments along the river and the various tributaries. Surely at one of these he would find out something which would guide him in his search. There was no time to be lost. Winter was not far away, and the river would soon be frozen from bank to bank. Already the wild geese had gone South in great wedge-like battalions, and any day the wild nor'easter might sweep down, and with the blast of its cruel breath strike rivers, lakes, and babbling brooks into a numbing silence.

For days and nights they continued their search. From camp to camp they sped with feverish haste, but not a clue could they find. The Indians had heard nothing of the missing girl, and Dane's heart sank within him at each fresh disappointment. What was he to do? Where was he to go? These were the questions he asked himself over and over again. Both he and Pete were weary, for they had slept but little, and had only eaten what they could obtain at the various encampments. How much longer could they continue? Soon the river would be frozen, and then the search would have to be carried on by land. And all this time what untold hardships was Jean undergoing, providing she was still alive?

At length when hope was almost gone, an Indian passing up river gave him a glimmer of light. He had been at the mouth of the Washademoak the night the white girl had been carried off. A strange canoe had passed by swiftly in the darkness, and he had heard a slight moan of distress. This was all, but it aroused in Dane a new spirit of hope. There might yet be time to follow this clue, and the Washademoak was a likely place to hide the girl.

It was morning, and they were far up the river when this information was received. The setting sun found them resting upon the shore not far from the entrance to the Washademoak. They had just finished their frugal supper, and were about to continue on their way, when the white sails of the little schooner Polly hove in sight, bearing steadily up stream. Captain Leavitt was on deck, and catching sight of the two rangers, he hailed them. As the vessel approached, Dane and Pete launched their canoe, and awaited her coming. The wind was not strong, and when the Polly at last drew near, they could see the deck filled with men, women, and children. In another minute the canoe was alongside, and Captain Leavitt leaning over the starboard rail.

"Hello, Dane," he accosted. "You're just the man I'm on the lookout for. Here's a letter from Davidson. I didn't expect to find you so easily. Any word of the missing girl?"

"Not much, Captain. We have a slight clue, though. What's the news at Portland Point?"

"Stirring times there, Dane. The town is building up fast, and more people have arrived." He then lowered his voice. "These are some of the late-comers. They are going up river to settle."

"At this time of the year?" Dane asked in surprise.

"Yes, and mighty hard luck, isn't it? We are bound for St. Anne's, but I question whether we can make it with this cold weather upon us. I must get back before the river freezes. Some are following in open boats, just think of that! I don't know what will become of them."

Dane's eyes turned to the Loyalists who were watching him and Pete with considerable curiosity. They formed a most pathetic group of people shivering there upon deck. They seemed weary almost to the point of exhaustion, and yet in their eyes and bearing could be observed a spirit that nothing could daunt.

"Did Davidson get the prisoners down all right?" Dane asked as he was about to let go of the rail.

"Yes, they're waiting trial now. But that letter will tell you all about it."

In another minute the canoe was adrift, and the Loyalists were waving their hands as the Polly sped on her way. Dane at once opened the letter, and read its contents. As he did so, his face became very grave, and a spirit of rebellion welled up within him.

"Look at this, Pete," and he held forth the letter as soon as he had stepped ashore. "Davidson has ordered us both to Fort Howe."

"Why?" the Indian asked.

"To tell what we heard at the Wedneebak. We are wanted as witnesses against Flazeet and Rauchad. What do you think of that?"

"We go, eh?"

"How can we? What about Jean?"

"Dane always go when chief call, all sam' wild goose, eh?"

"I always have, Pete. But it is different now. Jean needs me. She is in danger. She may be cold. She may be hungry. She may be——"

Dane did not finish his sentence, for Pete had suddenly stooped, and with a small stick was drawing a line upon the sand, east by west.

"See," he said, "King dere," and he touched the ground on the south side of the line with the point of his stick. He did the same on the north side, adding, "white woman dere. King, white woman, eh?"

"That's just it, Pete. It's between Jean and the King, between love and duty. I must think it out. You sleep."

For over an hour Dane paced up and down the shore, his mind rent by conflicting emotions. He was in the King's service, and it was his duty to respond whenever called. But why did not Davidson leave him alone now? What right had he to send for him when he knew of the importance of his mission in searching for the missing girl? At times he felt inclined to disobey the summons. He could make a living in some other way. It was not necessary for him to remain in the King's service. Some one else could do the work. But each time a voice whispered that such a course would not be honourable. He had not yet taken his discharge, and so was not free. How could he ever again face Davidson and the rangers? They would consider him a traitor, and he well knew how they would discuss him around their camp fires. To them his deflection from duty would be an unpardonable offence. They would condone almost anything rather than disloyalty to the King. Duty to him overshadowed every other matter, even that of the heart.

As Dane paced up and down thinking of these things, his mother's words flashed into his mind. "Be always loyal to God and the King above all things," she had impressed upon him. "The King is God's anointed one, and he rules by divine right." Dane had never doubted this, neither did he do so now. But he had since learned that love, too, is a divine thing, and cannot lightly be disobeyed. What is the King to me? he asked himself. A mere name. But Jean is a living reality. The King lives in luxury, and has millions to look after his interests. But Jean is now wandering somewhere in the wilderness, in great need, and with no one to help her. Why should I not go to her first of all? I can live without the King, but not without Jean.

The more he thought, the fiercer became the battle. Night had closed around him, and the steadily increasing nor'east wind sang the prelude of a coming storm. Dane glanced at the moon riding high above the tops of the pointed trees. He knew the meaning of its overcast appearance, and the circle which surrounded it. There was no time to be lost. He must decide at once. But which should it be? Pete was asleep, and the fire was low. Mechanically he stooped and threw a few sticks upon the hot coals. As the flames leaped up they illuminated the ground for some distance around. They brought into clear relief the line made by the Indian upon the sand. This primitive symbol arrested his attention, and a sudden fancy entered his mind. Picking up a small stick, he wrote in the sand on the south of the line the word "King," and on the north "Jean." These he compared with critical eyes.

"Same number of letters in each," he mused. "One stands for duty, the other for love. K-i-n-g, J-e-a-n," he spelled. "They both sound good, and have a fine ring about them. I am bound to both, and must decide now. Oh, Lord, which shall it be!"

The perspiration stood out in beads upon his forehead, so intense was his emotion.

"I can't decide against Jean!" he groaned. "And I can't be disloyal to the King!"

Again his mother's words came to his mind. "Be loyal to God and the King above all things." How would she choose if she were in his place? Yes, he knew. Not for an instant would she have hesitated. For a few minutes he stood staring straight before him. His face was pale, and his hands clenched hard, and his lips were firmly compressed. At length he turned, walked over to where Pete was lying, and touched him upon the shoulder. The Indian opened his eyes and looked around.

"Come, Pete, it's time we were away."

"Where, Dane?"

"Down to the Fort."

"Geeve up white woman, eh?"

"Give her up? No," Dane savagely replied. "I'll never give her up. But don't ask me any more questions now."

In a few minutes they were on their way, wind and tide being favourable. They had gone but a mile, when rounding a bend a big camp fire upon the shore attracted their attention. People were moving about, and these Dane surmised were the Loyalists Captain Leavitt had mentioned who were following in open boats. Some were seated before the fire in a most dejected manner. The cries of children reached him, accompanied by women's soothing words. Dane had no desire to stop, for his own trouble was all that he could now endure. So on the canoe sped, past the forlorn exiles, and forward to the Fort beyond.



CHAPTER XVI

UNDER COVER OF NIGHT

With a mingled feeling of anxiety and relief Jean watched the Loyalists and rangers march forth against the rebels. She had no doubt as to the outcome of the undertaking, but she felt uneasy about her father, and how he would stand the journey. On the other hand, she cherished the thought that on the morrow Dane would be with her, and all would be well.

For a while she stood in the doorway, looking out upon the river over which the mantle of night had settled. Mammy was crooning to the Indian baby before the fire. It was an old darky lullaby, and the faithful servant had sung it to her when she was a child. It brought back memories of her youthful days, which now seemed so long ago and like a dream.

"Doan stan' dere, chile," Mammy at length reminded. "Yo'll get yo' deff a col'."

Jean turned, picked up a shawl and threw it over her head.

"I am going to run over to see Mrs. Watson for a while," she said. "Danny was not well to-day, so I am anxious to know how he is getting along. With her husband away, Mrs. Watson must be very lonely tonight."

Mrs. Watson was greatly pleased to see the girl, and offered her a seat near the fire.

"How is Danny?" Jean asked.

"He is much better, I think, and is sleeping soundly," the mother replied, as she stole on tip-toe to the side of the rough cradle, and looked down fondly upon the little white face. "John was so sorry to go away with the baby sick," she continued, coming back to the fire. "I do hope there will be no fighting. Suppose some of our men should be killed!"

"I have great confidence in the rangers, and Mr. Davidson told me that not likely there would be any fighting," Jean comforted. "I believe he has some plan to entrap the rebels."

"Let us hope that he is right," and Mrs. Watson sighed as she rose and placed a big stick upon the fire. "How cold the nights are getting. I wonder how we shall manage through the winter."

"We have plenty of wood, anyway, Mrs. Watson, and so should keep warm. And we have enough meat to last us for months. When the Polly brings our supplies, we shall have an abundance of everything."

"I wonder what can be keeping that boat, Jean. We expected her before this. I hope Captain Leavitt has not forgotten us."

"He will come in time, never fear. We should have news, too, from our old home. How strange it is to be shut off for months with no communication with the great world beyond."

"It is like being buried live, dear. And just think of the long winter ahead, with snow and ice everywhere."

"But we shall make our little world right here, Mrs. Watson. I am looking forward to the winter. We are going to have a cosy, happy time, and lots of fun at Christmas. The children are talking about it already, and I know that wonderful presents are being made. I have been working at mine for some time, and I suppose you will have something for Danny."

Mrs. Watson smiled as she rose and took down a little basket from a rude shelf on the wall. From this she brought forth several little home-made articles, and laid them in Jean's lap.

"John is handy with his knife," she explained, "and made this boat, horse, and cart. He is going to make something else when he gets time. I made that doll out of some odds and ends, and John carved the head. We shall also make some molasses candy of funny shapes. Danny will be delighted. Poor little fellow, he talks so much about Santa Claus, and the things he is going to get."

"I am sure he will not be disappointed," Jean replied, as she examined each present. "You and Mr. Watson have done remarkable work."

For some time they sat and talked before the fire, and when Jean at last rose to go, Mrs. Watson looked at her with admiration.

"This life certainly agrees with you," she said. "I never saw you look better. And you are the envy of all the girls, too. I do not wonder at that."

Jean blushed, for she knew very well to what the woman referred.

"If they envy me, they never show it," was the cheery reply. "They are as kind and sweet to me as can be."

"They couldn't be anything else, dear. They would give worlds to be engaged to a young man like Dane Norwood, and to wear such a brooch as the one he gave you. All the girls look upon him as a hero."

In order to hide her embarrassment, Jean kissed Mrs. Watson and left the house. It was dark outside, but she did not mind this as she had often come that same way alone at night. In fact, no sense of fear entered her mind, for she was thinking of the words she had Just heard. As she raised her right hand and touched the Love-Token at her throat, a feeling of joy thrilled her heart. She recalled the day it had been given to her, and Dane's avowal of love. To-morrow he would be with her again, and her happiness would be complete.

She had gone but half way home when, without the slightest warning, she was seized by strong arms, a big hand was placed over her mouth, and she was borne bodily away. Desperately she struggled to free herself, and made frantic attempts to call for help. But her efforts were all in vain, for those entwining arms held her fast, and that hand still pressed firmly her mouth. At length she ceased her struggles, for a great terror rendered her limp and helpless. She knew that she was being carried through the bushes toward the river. After that she remembered no more until she found herself lying in the bottom of a canoe which was being driven through the water at a great speed. With a startled cry, she raised her head and looked around. Dark though it was, she could dimly see the forms of two men swaying strongly at their paddles.

"Where am I?" she asked in a trembling voice. "What are you going to do with me?"

For a few seconds there was intense silence. Then the men spoke to each other, and although Jean could not understand what was said, she knew from the deep guttural words that her captors were Indians. After a brief conversation, nothing more was said, and the girl had not the heart to question further.

Her fears were now greatly increased. She had heard of people being carried off by Indians, and tales of cruelty and insult worse than death lingered in her mind. What was the fate in store for her? Why had the Indians carried her off? She had not harmed them. The more she thought, the more puzzled she became. She shivered as she sat crouched there. The night was cold, and the wind piercing as it whipped across the water. For protection she drew around her shoulders a blanket which had been placed over her body when she was unconscious. That the Indians must have done this was a faint ray of light in the darkness of her despair. There must be some spark of feeling in their savage hearts, at any rate. She longed to see their faces. Were they hard and brutal, or did they exhibit some signs of friendliness? She thought of Dane and Pete. How soon they would hasten to her assistance if they knew of her trouble. But how would they know where she was? She pictured the consternation of all, and the grief of her father and Dane upon their return home. She knew how the latter would spare no efforts to find her. And her poor father! A moan escaped her lips as she thought of his agony of soul. She looked wildly around, but only the blackness of night could she see. Her eyes sought the stars. How far away and cheerless were those twinkling lights. What did they care for her troubles?

And as she looked, there came into her mind the opening lines of one of the psalms, "Unto Thee lift I up mine eyes, O Thou that dwellest in the heavens." How often she had heard those words at church, but never until now had they meant comfort and hope. They were a light to her in her darkness. There was One who could and would help and to Him alone she must now turn. Bowing her head, she appealed to Him, and asked Him to watch over her, to keep her from all dangers, and to take her safely back home.

A sense of security such as she had never before known possessed her. A great presence seemed near, overshadowing her, and giving her a new strength and courage. Despair was replaced by hope, and she felt that she could face the future with confidence. No longer did the stars seem cheerless. Instead, they were eyes smiling down upon her, telling her to be brave, that the One who guided them in their course would not forsake her. She determined not to lament. She would show the Indians that a white girl could suffer and be strong.

Slowly the dawn of a new day edged into the night, and the stars faded one by one. Jean could see her captors now quite distinctly. They were great stalwart natives, whose faces betrayed neither friendliness nor hostility. They never even glanced at her, but seemed entirely bent upon their work.

As the sun was about to appear above the tree-tops, the steersman headed the canoe for the shore. After they had landed, a small fire was started, and a kettle containing cooked meat was placed over the flames. Jean watched with interest all that was going on around her. This seemed to surprise the Indians, and when she pointed to the kettle, their faces relaxed into the faint semblance of a smile. Presently one of the men dipped a cup into the kettle and handed it to the girl. She took it, not without some hesitation, and after it had cooled a little, placed it to her lips. It tasted good, so she drank it all. The Indian next thrust a sharpened stick into the kettle, and brought forth a piece of the partridge which he placed in her cup. This was tender, and Jean enjoyed it as much as she did the broth. It brought a renewal of strength to her body, and she felt less weary.

Breakfast ended, the Indians took their few dishes to the water, washed and scoured them with sand, and left them upon a big stone for the sun to dry. The cleanliness of these natives was a surprise to Jean, and this touch of civilisation gave her some encouragement. She had often heard of the uncouth Indians, but here were men who could put many white people to shame.

For about two hours they remained there, and while the Indians dozed in the sun, Jean walked up and down the shore, or sat upon a rock looking out over the water. It was a beautiful morning, with not a breath of wind astir, and the mirror-like river reflected the great trees along its border. Where she was she had no idea. That she was some distance inland she felt certain. But how far? Whither was she bound? and what were the Indians going to do with her? Over and over again she vainly asked herself these questions as she gazed pensively out over the water.

All through the morning they continued on their way, and only stopped once to rest and to eat a hurried meal. Then on again, hour after hour, with nothing to break the monotony of vast forests crowding to the very shores. The river was quite narrow now, and very crooked. This led Jean to imagine that they were nearing the headwaters of the St. John, for never once had she suspected that they were ascending one of its tributaries. She was weary, and her body ached from her cramped position. It seemed an age since she had last slept in her own little bed far away. At times during the day her eyes had closed through drowsiness, but she had always aroused with a start. She felt that she must keep awake until night, at least—and what then?

At length, rounding a bend, her eyes rested upon two people standing upon the shore not far ahead. That they were Indians, a man and a woman, she could easily tell. Her captors saw them, too, so they ran the canoe close to where they were standing, and began to converse with them in the native language. That they were talking about her Jean was fully aware, for at times the woman looked at her in a manner not at all unfriendly. They seemed to be disputing about something, and their voices grew quite loud, and their words most emphatic.

Presently the woman stepped up close to the canoe, reached out and touched the little brooch at the girl's throat. "Su-wan! Su-wan!" she exclaimed. After examining it most carefully, she turned upon the captors and addressed them in an angry manner. They merely grunted at what she said, and pushing the canoe from the shore, once more continued on their way. Jean longed to know what had been said, and the meaning of the woman's sudden interest in the little arrow. She looked back several times and saw the two still standing upon the shore. When another bend hid them from view, a great loneliness swept upon her. She felt that those two were friendly, and had rebuked her captors for what they were doing.

For about another hour they pushed forward, the river becoming narrower all the time. Suddenly before them appeared several Indian lodges, entirely covered with great strips of birch bark. The place was evidently deserted, for no sign of life was to be seen. Here the canoe was run ashore, and landing made for the night.

Supper over, one of the Indians handed the captive a blanket, and motioned to the nearest lodge. Jean understood his meaning, took the blanket, and did as she was bidden. The lodge was empty, so placing the blanket upon the ground, she sat down and watched the Indians through the opening which served as a door. A few minutes later her captors pushed off their canoe, stepped lightly on board and started down the river. With fast-beating heart the girl watched them until they had disappeared from view. Then a terrible feeling of desolation came upon her. She was in the wilderness, alone, with untold dangers surrounding her. Had they deserted her? Had the Indians brought her there to perish? The thought was horrible. What had she done to deserve such a fate? With straining eyes she watched the river, hoping to see the Indians return. But night again shut down and they did not come. Certain was she now that they had left her to die. Burying her face in her hands, she sobbed out her grief, the first time since her capture. She had tried to be brave, but in all her imaginings she had never dreamed of such a fate as this.

And as she cowered there in the night, listening fearfully to every sound around her, the canoe, bearing her two captors stole noiselessly by, and sped onward through the darkness. The grief and loneliness of the girl meant little to them. Their work was done, they had received their reward, and far off around various camp fires they would relate to their own people the tale of the pale face captive girl.



CHAPTER XVII

THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY

While Jean was crouching there alone in the desolate lodge, several men were gathered around a small fire over half a mile down stream. They had been drinking, and their words were loud and coarse. Seth Lupin was the leader, and he was in great spirits. Three of his companions were the slashers who had attacked Dane Norwood at Portland Point, and they, too, seemed much pleased.

These brutes in human forms firmly believed that they were safe from all prying eyes, and that their words of lust and revenge were lost amidst the forest depths. Little did they realise that not far away the form of an Indian was pressed close to the ground, that keen ears were listening to every word, and that flashing eyes were watching their slightest movements.

When, however, Lupin at length stepped into the canoe lying on the shore, and began to paddle rapidly up the river, the prostrate Indian rose to his feet, and glided swiftly among the trees, straight for the lodge where Jean was crouching. As the canoe touched the shore a short distance below the encampment, the native was silently standing near a large spruce tree. No sooner had Lupin landed, than like a catapult the Indian was upon him. With a wild gurgling cry of fear the surprised man reeled back, and tried to ward off the attack. But his efforts were all in vain, for the Indian's fingers were upon his throat with a vise-like grip. Notwithstanding his frantic struggles, he was borne steadily to the ground, and there he lay with his assailant perched upon his body, and his fingers still clutching hard.

Seth Lupin had run his course. He knew no mercy, so no mercy was vouchsafed to him. In his diabolical mind he had planned the ruin of an innocent girl. But in his blind passion he had forgotten that the Great Avenger of the just uses many strange instruments in defending His own. He, like others, had left out of consideration the Unknown Quantity. The mighty forest had witnessed numerous tragedies, but none more swift and sure than the one this night on the bank of that narrow inland stream.

Within the lodge Jean heard that wild cry of fear, and it caused her to spring to her feet in terror. Her eyes stared out into the night, and unconsciously she lifted her right hand and struck at the blackness as if to drive it away. Listening intently, she could hear fearful sounds as of a desperate struggle, and then all was still. What did it mean? What unknown horrors were surrounding her? With cold clenched hands, and body rigid with terror, she strained her eyes into the darkness. She imagined that she could see forms creeping stealthily toward her, and the faintest outlines of great tree trunks were to her hideous monsters.

And as she looked and waited, something did appear suddenly before her. With a cry she started back, and raised both hands to defend herself. But a voice at once reassured her, causing her heart to leap with hope.

"White woman safe now," it said. "Injun tak' care white woman. Come."

"Who are you?" Jean asked in a trembling voice.

"Me Injun Sam. White woman no 'fraid Sam. Come."

"Will you save me?" the girl asked. "Will you take me home?"

"A-ha-ha. Bimeby. Come."

A feeling of security now swept upon Jean, so leaving the lodge she followed the Indian, who at once led her away from the river into the forest. It was difficult to see her guide, and so hard was the walking that she often stumbled, and several times fell. At length the Indian took her by the arm.

"Sam help white woman, eh?" he queried.

"Thank you," Jean panted. "You are very good."

With the native's assistance, she was thus enabled to make much better progress. How strong he was! He kept her from falling, and lifted her bodily at times over a root or a fallen log. And he was gentle, too, stopping to rest as they climbed some hill, and speaking words of encouragement.

"White woman no strong," he said. "White woman all sam' Injun bimeby."

To Jean it seemed as if their journey through the forest would never end. She was so tired, and her feet very sore. Gradually her strength and courage weakened, and her steps lagged. At length she stopped, and her body trembled. She could go no farther. She just wanted to lie down and rest. Then she tottered, and would have fallen had not the Indian caught her in his powerful arms.

"White woman all sam' babby," he said. "Injun tote white woman, eh?"

"No, no, you must not carry me!" Jean protested. "I am too heavy."

The Indian's only reply was a grunt of amusement, as he started forth with the girl in his arms. What a tower of strength he seemed as he moved through the forest and the night. Not once did he stumble, and his going was almost noiseless. Jean wondered where he was taking her. But she did not worry, for this native inspired her with confidence, and she firmly believed that he was really her friend. Anyway, she was too tired to think. She only longed to lay down her weary body and aching head and rest.

The Indian did not have to carry her far, for suddenly a light pierced the darkness, and in a few minutes they were by a camp-fire. A woman was standing there, and Jean recognised her immediately as the one she had met that afternoon, and who had examined the little arrow-brooch. She glanced quickly at her rescuer, and knew him, too. A sigh of relief escaped her lips. Never were friends more welcome.

Near the fire was a brush lean-to, and gently the Indian laid the girl down upon some soft furs and blankets. He smiled with satisfaction as he did this, and so overcome was Jean with gratitude, that she caught his great rough brown hand in both of hers, and held it fast. Tears were in her eyes as she looked upon his honest face.

"Thank you, oh, thank you," she murmured. "You have saved my life. How can I ever repay you?"

"Sam no want pay," was the quiet reply. "Sam glad save white woman."

The woman now came and knelt by the girl's side. She looked into her eyes, stroked her tangled hair, and touched the Love-Charm at her throat.

"Poor babby! Poor babby!" she crooned. "Hard tam, eh? white man bad, ugh!"

"Why do you say 'white man'?" Jean asked in surprise. "Indians carried me away. You saw them this afternoon."

Suddenly a suspicion flashed into her mind, which caused her to sit bolt upright. Did a white man have anything to do with it? And was that man Seth Lupin? But why had she not seen him? Then she thought of that wild cry of despair outside the lodge, which had caused her such terror. She looked into the Indian woman's face.

"Tell me," she said. "Was it Seth Lupin?"

"A-ha-ha. Seth. Bad. Ugh!"

"Where is he now?"

The woman merely shook her head, and spoke a few rapid words to her husband. She then turned to Jean and placed a light hand upon her shoulder.

"No mind white man now. Babby tired."

Jean smiled as the woman pressed her gently back upon the soft furs, and then stooped to take off her shoes. The latter were torn, and her feet were sore. It felt good to lie there, and to have some one attend to her needs. When the shoes had been removed, and a pair of soft moccasins placed upon her feet, she felt more comfortable.

"Why are you so good to me?" she asked. "You are just like a mother."

The woman only smiled in reply, and placed extra rugs about the girl. She then turned and cut a slice from a piece of moose meat. Through this she thrust a sharp-pointed stick and held it over the glowing coals. When it was browned to her satisfaction, she sprinkled it with a little salt, let it cool for a few minutes, and then handed it to her guest.

"Eat, eh?" she queried. "Good."

Jean smiled as she took the meat in her fingers and tasted it. She was hungry, and the steak was tender. It seemed so strange to be lying there in the wilderness, eating in such a primitive manner. She thought of her old home in Connecticut, and how carefully her mother had trained her. She remembered how when a child she had been rebuked because she had taken a piece of meat in her fingers. But it was the custom here in the wild, and she rather enjoyed it. And as she ate, the two Indians watched her with much interest. Such a novelty did she seem to them, that she could not refrain from smiling.

"Am I eating right?" she asked.

"A-ha-ha," the woman replied. "Babby all sam' Injun bimeby."

"Why do you call me baby? I am very big."

But the woman shook her head.

"White woman no beeg, no strong, no hunt, no feesh, no pack; all sam' babby."

"Oh, I see," and Jean's eyes twinkled. "I know I cannot hunt, fish, or pack. But you will teach me, will you not?"

"A-ha-ha. Injun teach babby bimeby. Sleep now."

Jean did feel drowsy, and the bed was so soft and comfortable. For a while she watched the friendly Indians as they sat near the fire, and talked low to each other. It all seemed like a wonderful dream—the leaping flames, the dancing sparks, and the gentle sighing of the wind in the tree-tops. Her thoughts drifted away to her father and Dane. How anxious they must be about her. But the Indians would take her home, and all would again be well. What a story she would have to tell of her capture and experience in the wilderness. How could she ever repay her rescuers for what they had done for her? She tried to think of what she might give them. But her thoughts became confused, and she drifted oft into a peaceful sleep with the problem unsettled.

Occasionally the Indians turned and watched the girl. When they saw that she was asleep, they looked at each other and smiled. Then they brought forth their blackened clay pipes, which they filled and lighted. For a time they smoked in silence and contentment. At length they began to converse softly in their own language. That they were talking about the sleeping girl was evident, for several times they glanced in her direction. Once Sam ceased in the midst of his talk, leaped to his feet, and clutched an imaginary object with both hands. He then squatted down again, and continued his tale of the tragedy that night by the shore of the forest stream.

When he was through he rose to his feet, picked up his musket, and looked again at the girl. He then plunged into the night and the forest, leaving his wife to keep guard alone by the fire. The dawn of a new day was breaking when he returned and threw two snared partridges down upon the ground for his wife to prepare for breakfast. But something more important than birds had kept him abroad that night. His face was serious, and his eyes glowed with anxiety and anger as he laid aside his gun, and spoke a few commanding words to his wife.



CHAPTER XVIII

LOYAL FRIENDS

It was broad daylight when Jean opened her eyes and looked curiously around. It was a still, frosty morning. The sun sifted down through the branches of the trees, and formed a fantastic net-work of light and shadow upon the ground. A deep silence prevailed, and as the girl looked dreamily at the lordly pines, birches, and maples, her eyes wandered far up among their overhanging branches. They reminded her of some majestic cathedral, with stately pillars and crowning arches, pictures of which she had at times seen. She remembered how her father had once told her that the forest was the original cathedral, and that along the silent woody aisles primitive people used to worship the Great Spirit. She understood now, as never before, how the designs for the first cathedral had been copied from the forest.

Lowering her eyes, they rested upon the Indian woman kneeling before the fire. It was a fascinating scene, and in keeping with the solemn grandeur of the place. There was the humble worshipper at the altar-fire, offering her devotions in a simple reverent manner. Jean smiled at this fancy, for she was certain that the idea of worship was not at all in the woman's mind. She was merely cooking the partridges her husband had brought in several hours before.

"Good morning," Jean at length accosted.

The woman turned quickly, and rose to her feet. She smiled as she stood and watched the girl lying there with her hair tossed in rich profusion over cheeks and shoulders.

"Plenty sleep, eh?" she asked.

"Yes, I have had a great sleep, and am much rested. It is very comfortable here."

"Hungry, eh?"

"Why, I believe I am," and Jean laughed. "What are you cooking?"

"Bird. Sam ketch'm. Good. Smell'm?"

"I certainly do, and it makes my mouth water."

The woman at once stooped, dipped a cup into the pot which was simmering over the coals, and handed it to Jean.

"Soup. Good," she said.

"It is good," Jean agreed after she had tasted it. "This will make me strong. You are a fine cook. What is your name?"

"Kitty."

"Kitty what?"

"Kitty Sam."

"Is that all?"

"A-ha-ha."

"But you have an Indian name, have you not?"

"Injun name long. Babby no spik Injun name."

After Jean had finished her breakfast, she felt much refreshed. She washed herself at a little brook which babbled through the forest, and arranged as well as she could her tangled hair. One little pool served as Nature's mirror, and in this she could see her face and the brooch at her throat. She again recalled the happy day it had been given to her. How long ago that seemed, and she wondered where Dane was now. No doubt he was frantically searching for her, his heart filled with grief and fear. She must get home as soon as possible, for she knew how her father's heart must be nearly broken. She would get the Indians to take her back at once. But when she mentioned this upon her return to the lean-to, Kitty shook her head.

"No go now," she said. "Cold bimeby. Snow come. Ribber freeze."

"Will we go then?" Jean eagerly asked.

"Mebbe, Sam come back soon. Sam know."

"Where is Sam now?"

"Sam dere," and she motioned off toward the river. "Sam watch white man. Sam track'm all sam' bear. White man no see Sam."

"What white man? Isn't he dead?"

"A-ha-ha, Seth dead. More white man."

"What, are there others?"

"A-ha-ha. Bad! Ugh! Hunt babby. No find babby. White man mad."

"Will they come here?" A new fear had now come into Jean's heart. So there were other men after her! Who were they? But she had confidence in her dusky friends, and believed that they would save her.

"White man come, mebbe," the Indian replied. "No ketch Injun, no ketch babby. All gone."

"Where shall we go?"

"Way off," and Kitty waved her hand to the right. "Beeg wood, see?"

"And you will take me there? But I want to go home."

"A-ha-ha, go home dat way, bimeby," and she pointed westward. "Beeg ribber, Wu-las-tukw."

"I never heard of that river. Where is it?"

"Way off dere. Wat you call'm?"

"The St. John?"

"A-ha-ha. Injun call'm 'Wu-las-tukw,' beeg ribber."

"And you will take me there?"

"Bimeby, mebbe. Sam know."

They were seated near the fire during this conversation, and the Indian woman was busy with a deer-skin garment. It was a warm looking jacket, and she was sewing on an extra string of bright-coloured beads. When this had been accomplished to her satisfaction, she held it forth for Jean's inspection.

"Good coat," she said. "Try'm on, eh?"

Jean at once stood up, and when she had slipped on the jacket, the Indian woman viewed her with pleasure.

"Wear'm, eh?" she queried. "Warm?"

"Indeed it is," Jean replied. "Is this for me?"

"A-ha-ha. Keep babby warm. Kitty mak' more bimeby. Babby no cold."

A mistiness came into the girl's eyes as she stood there. The kindness of this woman affected her deeply.

"Why are you so good to me?" she asked. "You never saw me until yesterday, and yet you are doing so much for me. I don't understand."

"Kitty tell, eh?"

"I wish you would," Jean replied as she seated herself upon the rugs and furs. "I want to know."

The Indian woman threw a couple of sticks upon the fire, and then faced the girl. She reached out and touched the little arrow-brooch with the forefinger of her right hand.

"Dane geeve babby dat, eh?" she asked.

"Why, yes, how did you know that?"

"Injun know much," and the woman smiled as she spoke. "Injun know Dane; Dane know Pete. See?"

"Did Pete tell you about this?" and Jean touched the arrow.

"A-ha-ha. Pete tell Injun. Pete, Sam, all sam' mamma. See?"

"What, are Pete and Sam brothers?"

"A-ha-ha, all sam' mamma."

A new light now began to dawn upon Jean's mind, and she understood certain things which had been puzzling her since yesterday afternoon. She also recalled Dane's words when he gave her the brooch. "It is Love's-Charm," he had said, "and it may mean more to you than you now imagine." She realised how much it had meant to her, and no doubt it had saved her from a terrible fate.

"You knew me by this?" she asked, again touching the arrow.

"A-ha-ha. Kitty see quick. Kitty know Dane geeve babby arrow. Pete tell Injun."

"Didn't those Indians who carried me away from home know? Didn't Pete tell them?"

"Dem bad Injun. Bah! Porkeepine! Fight King George!"

"What do you mean by porcupine?"

"Micmac; all sam' slasher. Fight King George."

"But all the Indians are not rebels."

"No, no. Plenty good Injun no fight King George. All sam' Dane."

"You have known Dane quite a while, I suppose!" Jean asked, while a conscious flush stole into her cheeks.

"A-ha-ha, long tam. Dane leetle babby, so beeg," and she spread out her hand, palm downward, about two feet from the ground. "Kitty know Dane; Kitty know Dane mamma."

"What, you know his mother?"

"A-ha-ha. Good woman. Dead now."

"Do you know his father?"

The woman turned suddenly toward the fire without replying. Jean noticed this, and wondered. She also remembered Dane's peculiar manner when she had mentioned his father. Her interest and curiosity were now aroused more than ever. There must be some mystery connected with Dane's father, she felt certain. She longed to know, and hoped to find out something from this woman. There was no opportunity, however, just then as Sam appeared unexpectedly before them. He was much excited, and addressed a few rapid words to his wife. Jean rose to her feet, her face pale with fear.

"Are the white men after me?" she asked in a trembling voice.

"A-ha-ha." Sam replied. "White man chase babby."

"Why?"

Jean knew why, but she wanted to hear what the Indian had to say.

"White man find Seff dead by ribber. White man act funny, much 'fraid. Bimeby find babby gone. White man much mad."

He paused, picked up his musket which he had laid aside, and examined the priming.

"Did you see them?" Jean asked.

"A-ha-ha. Sam see'm. White man no see Sam."

"Are they coming this way?"

"A-ha-ha."

"Will you shoot them?"

"Sam shoot bimeby, mebbe. White man no ketch babby."

Of this Jean had no doubt. What a tower of strength this Indian seemed to her just then. The day before she had given up all hope of earthly aid, yet here was one, and a native at that, who was ready to protect her. How wonderful it all appeared. And it was against men of her own race he would defend her. Of the savage Indian she had heard and read much. But here were two of the despised race putting white men to shame.

In the meantime the Indian woman had been very busy. She had gathered the few cooking utensils together, and was now rolling up the blankets and skins. Presently Sam assisted her, and in a remarkably short time they were ready for their journey.

Jean begged to be allowed to carry something, but Sam shook his head as he pointed to her shoulders and feet.

"No strong," he said. "Feet leetle. Bimeby Injun pack babby, mebbe, eh?"

"Oh, I hope not," the girl smilingly replied. "I must walk to-day."

With their packs strapped upon their backs, Sam picked up his musket, and Kitty the axe. With a final glance around to see that nothing was overlooked, Sam led the way among the trees, with Jean following, and Kitty bringing up in the rear.

All through the afternoon they pressed forward along the silent forest ways. Occasionally the Indians halted that the girl might rest. Their care of her was remarkable, and to them she seemed like a mere child. It was quite evident that they had taken her to their hearts, and that nothing was too good for her.

Jean was surprised at herself for standing the journey so well. Although very tired at times, she never once complained. She was not accustomed to moccasins, and the roots and stones bruised her feet. Up hill and down they moved, across valleys, swamps, and wild meadows. There was no trail, but Sam led the way with an unerring instinct. He chose the smoothest spots, but even these were hard for the girl's tender feet. Very thankful was she when at length he halted by the side of a little forest lake, and unstrapped his pack.

"Camp here," he announced. "Plenty water."

Jean dropped upon the ground, weary almost to the point of exhaustion. Her body ached, and her head throbbed with a dull pain. But after she had rested a while, and eaten the supper which Kitty speedily prepared, she felt better. Sam erected a cosy lean-to, and when the rugs and blankets had been spread out upon the fresh, fragrant spruce boughs, he insisted that Jean should occupy the choice place near the fire. So lying there, she watched her kind-hearted companions as they moved about making ready for the night.

It was a beautiful spot where their camp was built. The little lake, covered with a thin coating of ice, mirrored the great trees in its glassy surface. It was one of Nature's gems tucked away in the heart of the mighty forest, known only to the wandering Indians, and their feathered and furry kindred of the wild.

As day faded, and night cast its mantle over forest and lake, the stars appeared and twinkled down their welcome. As Jean watched them, she thought of the night she had been stolen from home, and how cold and cheerless those same stars had seemed. She also recalled the prayer she had uttered in her distress, and the sense of peace which had come upon her. In what a remarkable manner her prayer had been answered. A feeling of intense gratitude welled up in her heart, and almost unconsciously she began to sing an old familiar hymn.

The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want, He makes me down to lie In pastures green; He leadeth me The quiet waters by.

Her voice was not strong, but exceptionally sweet. Her singing attracted the Indians, who left their work, and squatting near her side, listened with rapt attention. Jean, seeing their interest, paused at the end of the second verse, and smiled.

"Do you like singing?" she asked.

"A-ha-ha," Kitty replied. "More, eh?"

Yea, though I walk through death's dark vale, Yet will I fear no ill; For Thou art with me; and Thy rod And staff me comfort still.

When Jean had ended singing this verse there was a mistiness in her eyes. How wonderfully true were those words in her own case. The Shepherd had been with her through death's dark vale, He had comforted her, and led her to this quiet woodland lake.

"Babby seek?" Sam asked, noticing her emotion.

"No, not sick, but very thankful," was the quiet reply. "My Great Father in heaven has sent you to save me and to take me home. Do you know Him?"

"A-ha-ha, me know'm. White man tell Injun long tam ago."

"Missionary?" Jean asked.

"A-ha-ha. Long black robe. Cross, all sam' dis," and Sam made the form of the symbol of salvation with his forefinger.

Jean knew that he referred to some French missionary who had visited the country.

"And he taught you about the Great Father?"

"A-ha-ha. Long black robe come up Wu-las-tukw in canoe. Sam no forget. Sing more, eh?"

Jean did as she was requested, and sang several of the hymns she remembered. At times she glanced at her dusky companions. Their eyes shone with pleasure, mingled with admiration as they watched the reclining girl, and listened to the words of hope and comfort. They were but unlettered natives of the wild, yet their hearts responded readily to the concord of sweet sounds. Often the good lying in such hearts needs but a gentle fanning to burst forth in the beauty of love, service, and devotion. Little did Jean realise the influence she was exerting upon those two friendly Indians in that quiet lodge in the depths of the great forest.



CHAPTER XIX

THE SMOKE SIGNAL

When Jean awoke the next morning she was stiff and sore. She longed to stay there all day and rest. But Kitty informed her that they must move on at once, for not only were the slashers hot upon their trail, but that a storm was coming, and they would need better shelter than their rude brush lean-to could give. In a short time Sam returned and reported that their pursuers were floundering about in a valley several miles away. They had evidently lost the trail, and it would take them some time to find it again.

"Will they keep on following us?" Jean asked.

"A-ha-ha," Sam replied. "Stop bimeby, mebbe. See?" and he laid his hand upon his musket.

"Will you shoot them?"

"Mebbe. Bimeby."

"Oh, you mustn't!" and Jean shuddered. "That would be murder."

"White man kill Injun all sam' dog. Ugh!"

"Would they?"

"A-ha-ha. Sam know."

"You killed one white man, remember. But you must not kill any more. Will you promise me?"

"Sam no say. See bimeby."

After Jean had eaten a hurried breakfast, the few belongings were again packed up, and once more they started forward. The morning was cold, and the trees were swaying and creaking like great masts at sea beneath a whipping wind. Jean shivered as she bravely and patiently followed Sam through that trackless wild. All through the morning they toiled onward, and the afternoon was waning when the rain swept down upon them. It froze as it fell, and ere long the ground was covered with a coating of ice. At times Jean slipped and would have fallen but for Kitty, who caught her by the arm and helped her over the rough and treacherous places. The clothing of the three wayfarers soon became stiff with the frozen rain, and resembled ancient armor. But still they pressed onward, and night was again shutting down when another and a larger lake burst suddenly into view.

On the shore of this fine body of water were several Indian lodges, completely deserted. To Jean they looked cold and forbidding, so very glad was she when Sam led the way to a dense thicket of young fir and spruce trees. Nestling in their midst was the cosiest lodge Jean had ever beheld. In fact, it consisted of a couple of lean-tos, facing each other, between which was an open space a few feet in width. This latter served as the fire-place, the smoke ascending through the opening above.

In a short time a bright fire was burning, and Jean comfortably ensconced upon the blankets and furs. Not a drop of rain touched her, for the roof of this abode was covered with long strips of birch bark. This, so Kitty explained, would be their home until the streams froze hard enough to carry them. How pleasant it was to Jean to lie there and rest. She felt that she could not endure another day of travel through the forest. She had been tired the night before, but it was little compared to now. Every bone in her body ached, and her feet were sore and blistered. It was good to lie there listening to the rain beating its tat-too upon the roof, and watching the smoke scurrying upwards. She could hear the wind howling among the trees, and vainly striving to force an entrance into their snug retreat.

Nearby Sam had his cache among the lower branches of four spruce trees, and high enough from the ground to be safe from prowling animals. From this he brought down some provisions, including a piece of moose meat, tea, and a little flour. With the latter Kitty baked several bannocks before the fire, which tasted especially good to Jean after her sole diet of meat. These were eaten with the honey of wild bees which the Indians had gathered during the summer.

"These are good," Jean remarked, as she helped herself to a second bannock. "Where did you get this honey?"

Kitty laughed as she pointed to her husband, who was dragging in several large sticks.

"Sam get'm last summer. Bees bite Sam, see?" and she put her hands to her face and neck. "Sam head beeg. Hurt." Again she laughed at the recollection of her husband's swollen face.

When Sam had finished his task of bringing in the wood, he squatted before the fire and ate his supper. Then he brought forth a plug of tobacco, whittled off several slices with his hunting-knife, filled his blackened pipe, and lighted it with a small brand from the fire. His wife did the same, and soon the two were smoking in great contentment. Jean, watching, thought how little it took to satisfy such people. Their belongings were few, and their places of abode many. She longed to know more about these two Indians, why they were living apart from their tribe, and whether they had any children. They must have mingled with white people, for they readily understood everything she said, although they themselves spoke in broken English.

She thought of these things the next morning as she and Kitty were comfortably seated near the fire. The rain had ceased during the night, the clouds had rolled away, and the ice-laden trees, touched by the sun, shone and sparkled with surpassing loveliness. It seemed like fairy-land to Jean when she first looked forth that morning, and she exclaimed with delight. From the lake to the high peak off toward the west millions of icy diamonds had caught the bright beams, and were scintillating their glory far and wide.

"I never saw anything like it" Jean told Kitty. "Have you seen it?"

"A-ha-ha, me see'm," the Indian woman replied without the least sign of enthusiasm. "Kitty see plenty. Trail bad. Ice heavy. Branch hang down. Bad. Ugh!"

"Perhaps it will keep back those men who are following us," Jean suggested. "They may not be able to get through the forest."

Kitty shook her head as she looked out upon the lake.

"Ice no stop white man. Trees beeg, no ice, trail good. Sam come bimeby. Sam know."

"Where is Sam now?"

"Sam watch slashers. Sam gone long tam. Come bimeby."

"What will he do if the white men come here?"

"White man no come."

The woman rose to her feet and looked off to the high peak in the distance. Then she sat down near the opening where she could watch the hill without too much trouble. Jean wondered at this, although she made no comment. No doubt she would understand in time.

"Have you lived long in this place?" she asked.

"Two, t'ree winter, mebbe."

"Where do you live in the summer?"

"Many place; Wa-sit-um-o-wek; Wu-las-tukw; Beeg Lake, some tam."

"Where is Big Lake?"

"Way dere," and Kitty motioned westward. "Go dere bimeby."

"You often meet white people, I suppose?"

"A-ha-ha."

"Do you and Sam always travel alone? Are there other Indians around here?"

"Plenty Injun sometam'. See'm bimeby, mebbe." Again she glanced toward the distant hill.

"Have you any children?" Jean asked.

"No babby now. Babby all die."

"But Pete has children, has he not?"

"A-ha-ha. Pete plenty babby."

"Why, then, did he bring his baby to me when its mother died? Why did not you take care of it?"

Kitty looked quizzically at the girl before replying.

"Dane no tell, eh?" she queried.

"Tell what?"

"Why Pete leave babby."

"No, he never told me. Perhaps he didn't know."

"Pete know. Pete find out 'bout King George peep'l. See?"

Noticing the puzzled expression upon the girl's face, the woman smiled.

"Pete no sure 'bout white peep'l," she continued. "Pete leave leetle babby. All good t' leetle babby. Pete trust King George peep'l. Pete no forget."

A new light now came into Jean's mind, and she partly understood why the baby had been left at the settlement. It was simply a plan on Pete's part to learn whether the Loyalists were worthy of his trust and special attention. Never for an instant had she thought of such a thing. When that little waif had been brought to her home that night of the wild storm, she and old Mammy had taken it to their hearts, and had done all they could for its welfare. But how much it had meant to her. Pete had spread the word abroad among his own people, and because of the care of a little Indian child, she herself had been saved from a terrible fate. She thought of the arrow Dane had given her. She knew that it had a great deal to do with her rescue, but not all. The care of the baby was back of that. But did Dane know? Had he any idea that the baby and the arrow were so closely connected? Was that the meaning of his words when he had given her the arrow? Did he think that some day she might need protection, and that the Love-Token would prove of great value?

"Dane told you about this, didn't he?" and she touched the brooch.

"A-ha-ha. Dane tell Injun."

"And you knew me by this?"

"A-ha-ha. Injun know all sam' white woman take care babby."

She paused abruptly, sprang to her feet, and pointed excitedly to the high hill.

"See! See!" she cried. "Pu-kut! Pu-kut!"

Jean hastened to her side, and her eyes followed the woman's outstretched arm. Up on the dazzling, sun-crowned peak a wreath of smoke was ascending beyond the tops of the highest trees. It rose straight into the air like a tall shaft ere it spread and fell in wavy, fairy-like curls, and slowly disappeared from view.

"What is it?" the girl asked, feeling certain that it meant something important.

"Slashers come," Kitty explained. "Sam call Injun."

"Now I understand," Jean replied, while a great fear smote her heart. "The slashers are near, and Sam wants help; is that it?"

"A-ha-ha. Smoke call Injun."

"Will the Indians see it?"

"A-ha-ha."

"Will they know what it means?"

"Injun know."

"But suppose there are no Indians near?"

"Plenty Injun see pu-kut. Beeg hill. Injun know."

"Will the Indians come?"

"Bimeby."

"In time to save us from the slashers?"

"Mebbe. Sam come bimeby. Sam know."

Curiously and anxiously Jean watched that signal flaring from the high hill. She asked Kitty many questions, and learned how in times of danger the Indians sent up the smoke-wreath from certain hill tops. At night a blazing fire was used, and in this manner news was carried many miles in a remarkably short time.

Several hours wore slowly away as the two anxious women kept watch upon the hill. When at length the smoke ceased to ascend. Kitty's face brightened.

"Sam come soon," she said. "Injun come bimeby."

"How do you know?" Jean asked.

"Injun mak' pu-kut. Injun say 'come.'"

"Did the Indians reply by sending up smoke? Is that what you mean?"

"A-ha-ha. Sam come soon. Injun bimeby."

And in this Kitty was right, for in less than an hour Sam appeared before them. He smiled as he entered the lodge, laid aside his musket, and helped himself to some meat from a pot near the fire. As he ate, he told about the slashers. They were not far away, and were waiting to make the attack that night. How he learned this he did not explain, and Jean asked no questions. It was sufficient for her that he knew, and she had great respect for his knowledge of the ways of the wild, and his practical common sense.

Slowly the afternoon edged into evening. The Indians were late in coming, and often Sam cast anxious glances along the shore of the lake. Several times he made short journeys into the forest, lest the enemy should come upon them unawares. Jean, too, was greatly agitated. Suppose the slashers should arrive, what could Sam do alone? What would become of her? She recalled Dane's words that night at Portland Point when he had saved her from Seth Lupin. "Do you know how beautiful you are?" he had asked. "If you don't, then you are not aware of your danger. That villain, Lupin, knows of your beauty, so he followed you here. The slashers and others will soon know, too, and I might not always be on hand." That was months ago, but she remembered every word. She thought then that Dane had spoken rather plainly, and had told him so. But she knew now how well he understood the risks she would run, and that he was speaking for her welfare. Oh, if Dane and the rangers were with her in the forest how soon they would put the slashers to rout, and take her home. But they were far off, so her only hope lay in the arrival of the Indians, from where she did not know.



CHAPTER XX

TEMPERED PUNISHMENT

Darkness came, and with it the long-expected Indians. They were a score in all, and they glided like spectres along the shore and up to the lodge in the thicket. It was a joyous greeting they received as they gathered around the fire, and for a few minutes there was a regular babel of tongues, although Jean did not understand a word that was being said. At length the visitors ceased talking and listened to Sam, who spoke with great earnestness, and motioned at times eastward. That he was speaking about the slashers, and why he had sent for assistance, Jean was certain.