On the march they had seen many bodies of the enemy moving along the road, but their approach had in every case been detected in time to take refuge in the forest. On entering the fort Peter at once proceeded to General Powell's quarters and delivered the dispatch with which he had been intrusted. The general read it.

"No re-enforcements have arrived," the general said, "and the force here is barely sufficient to defend the place. It would be madness for me to set out on such a march with the handful of troops at my disposal."

He then questioned Peter concerning the exact position of the army, and the latter had no hesitation in saying that he thought the whole force would be compelled to lay down their arms unless some re-enforcements reached them from below.

This, however, was not to be. General Clinton captured Forts Montgomery and Clinton, the latter a very strong position, defended with great resolution by four hundred Americans. The Seventh and Twenty-sixth regiments and a company of grenadiers attacked on one side, the Sixty-third Regiment on the other. They had no cannon to cover their advance and had to cross ground swept by ten pieces of artillery. In no event during the war did the British fight with more resolution. Without firing a shot they pressed forward to the foot of the works, climbed over each other's shoulders on to the walls, and drove the enemy back. The latter discharged one last volley into the troops and then laid down their arms. Notwithstanding the slaughter effected by this wanton fire after all possibility of continuing a resistance was over, quarter was given and not one of the enemy was killed after the fort was taken. The British loss was 140 killed and wounded; 300 Americans were killed, wounded, or taken prisoners. The fleet attacked the American squadron on the river and entirely destroyed it. Beyond sending a flying squadron up the river to destroy the enemy's boats and stores of provisions, nothing further could be done to effect a diversion in favor of General Burgoyne.

Four days after Harold's arrival at Ticonderoga the news of the surrender of General Burgoyne reached the place. Upon the following day he suggested to Peter Lambton that they should visit the clearing of the ex-soldier Cameron and see whether their interference had saved him and his family. Upon arriving at the spot whence Harold had fired the shot which had brought discovery upon them, they saw a few charred stumps alone remaining of the snug house which had stood there. In front of it, upon the stump of a tree, Cameron himself was sitting in an attitude of utter depression.

They walked across the clearing to the spot, but although the sound of their footsteps must have reached his ear, the man did not look up until Harold touched him on the shoulder.

"What has happened?" he asked. "Who has done this ruin?"

The man still remained with his head bent down, as if he had not heard the question.

"We had hoped that you had escaped," Harold went on. "We were hidden in the wood when we saw those ruffians drive your wife and daughter out, and it was the shot from my rifle that killed their leader and brought them down on us; and a narrow escape we had of it; but we hoped that we had diverted them from their determination to kill you and your family."

Cameron looked up now.

"I thank ye, sir," he said. "I thank ye wi' a' my hairt for your interference on our behalf. I heerd how closely ye were beset that night and how ye escaped. They thought nae mair o' us, and when the royal army arrived the next day we were safe; but ye might as weel ha' let the matter gang on—better, indeed, for then I should be deed instead o' suffering. This wark," and he pointed toward the remains of the house, "is redskin deviltry. A fortnight sin' a band o' Indians fell upon us. I was awa'. They killed my wife and burned my house and ha' carried off my bairn."

"Who were they?" Harold asked.

"I dinna ken," Cameron replied; "but a neebor o' mine whose place they attacked, and whom they had scalped and left for deed, told me that they were a band o' the Iroquois who had come down from Lake Michigan and advanced wi' the British. He said that they, with the other redskins, desairted when their hopes o' plunder were disappointed, and that on their way back to their tribes they burned and ravaged every settlement they cam' across. My neebor was an old frontiersman; he had fought against the tribe and knew their war-cry. He deed the next day. He was mair lucky than I am."

"The tarnal ruffians!" Peter exclaimed; "the murdering varmints! And to think of 'em carrying off that purty little gal of yours! I suppose by this time they're at their old game of plundering and slaying on the frontier. It's naught to them which side they fight on; scalps and plunder is all they care for."

The unfortunate settler had sat down again on the log, the picture of a broken-hearted man. Harold drew Peter a short distance away.

"Look here. Peter," he said. "Now Burgoyne's army has surrendered and winter is close at hand, it is certain that there will be no further operations here, except perhaps that the Americans will recapture the place. What do you say to our undertaking an expedition on our own account to try and get back this poor fellow's daughter? I do not know whether the Seneca would join us, but we three—of course I count Jake—and the settler might do something. I have an old grudge against these Iroquois myself, as you have heard; and for aught I know they may long ere this have murdered my cousins."

"The Seneca will jine," Peter said, "willing enough. There's an old feud between his tribe and the Iroquois. He'll jine fast enough. But mind, youngster, this aint no child's play; it aint like fighting them American clodhoppers. We'll have to deal with men as sharp as ourselves, who can shoot as well, hear as well, see as well, who are in their own country, and who are a hundred to one against us. We've got hundreds and hundreds of miles to travel afore we gets near 'em. It's a big job; but if, when ye thinks it all over, you're ready to go, Peter Lambton aint the man to hold back. As you say, there's naught to do this winter, and we might as well be doing this as anything else."

The two men then went back to the settler.

"Cameron," Harold said, "it is of no use sitting here grieving. Why not be up in pursuit of those who carried off your daughter?"

The man sprang to his feet.

"In pursuit!" he cried fiercely; "in pursuit! Do ye think Donald Cameron wad be sitting here quietly if he kenned where to look for his daughter—where to find the murderers o' his wife? But what can I do? For three days after I cam' back and found what had happened I was just mad. I couldna think nor rest, nor do aught but throw mysel' on the ground and pray to God to tak' me. When at last I could think, it was too late. It wad hae mattered naething to me that they were a hundred to one. If I could ha' killed but one o' them I wad ha' died happy; but they were gone, and how could I follow them—how could I find them? Tell me where to look, mon—show me the way; and if it be to the ends o' the airth I will go after them."

"We will do more, than that," Harold said. "My friend and myself have still with us the seven men who were with us when we were here before. Five are Senecas, the other a faithful negro who would go through fire and water for me. There is little chance of our services being required during the winter with the British army. We, are interested in you and in the pretty child we saw here, and, if you will, we will accompany you in the search for her. Peter Lambton knows the country well, and if anyone could lead you to your child and rescue her from those who carried her off, he is the man."

"Truly!" gasped the Scotchman. "And will ye truly gang wi' me to find my bairn? May the guid God o' heaven bless you!" and the tears ran down his cheeks.

"Git your traps together at once, man," Peter said. "Let's go straight back to the fort; then I'll set the matter before the chief, who will, I warrant me, be glad enough to jine the expedition. It's too late to follow the track of the red varmints; our best plan will be to make straight for the St. Lawrence; to take a boat if we can git one; if not, two canoes; and to make up the river and along the Ontario. Then we must sell our boat, cross to Erie, and git fresh canoes and go on by Detroit into Lake Huron, and so up in the country of these reptiles. We shall have no difficulty, I reckon, in discovering the whereabout of the tribe which has been away on this expedition."

The Scotchman took up the rifle.

"I am ready," he said, and without another word the party started for the fort.

Upon their arrival there a consultation was held with the Seneca. The prospect of an expedition against his hereditary foes filled him with delight, and three of his braves also agreed to accompany them. Jake received the news with the remark:

"All right, Massa Harold. It make no odds to dis chile whar he goes. You say de word—Jake ready."

Half an hour sufficed for making the preparations, and they at once proceeded to the point where they had hidden the two canoes on the night when they joined General Burgoyne before his advance upon Ticonderoga. These were soon floating on the lake, and they started to paddle to the mouth of the Sorrel, down this river into the St. Lawrence, and thence to Montreal. Their rifles they had recovered from the lake upon the day following that on which Ticonderoga was first captured; Deer Tail having dispatched to the spot two of his braves, who recovered them without difficulty, by diving, and brought them back to the fort.

At Montreal they stayed but a few hours. An ample supply of ammunition was purchased and provisions sufficient for the voyage; and then, embarking in the two canoes, they started up the St. Lawrence. It was three weeks later when they arrived at Detroit, which was garrisoned by a British force. Here they heard that there had been continuous troubles with the Indians on the frontier; that a great many farms and settlements had been destroyed, and numbers of persons murdered.

Their stay at Detroit was a short one. Harold obtained no news of his cousins, but there were so many tales told of Indian massacres that he was filled with apprehension on their account. His worst apprehensions were justified when the canoes at length came within sight of the well-remembered clearing. Harold gave a cry as he saw that the farmhouse no longer existed. The two canoes were headed toward shore, and their occupants disembarked and walked toward the spot where the house had stood. The site was marked by a heap of charred embers. The outhouses had been destroyed, and a few fowls were the only living things to be seen in the fields.

"This here business must have taken place some time ago," Peter said, breaking the silence. "A month, I should say, or p'r'aps more."

For a time Harold was too moved to speak. The thought of his kind cousins and their brave girl all murdered by the Indians filled him with deep grief. At last he said:

"What makes you think so, Peter?"

"It's easy enough to see as it was after the harvest, for ye see the fields is all clear. And then there's long grass shooting up through the ashes. It would take a full month, p'r'aps six weeks, afore it would do that. Don't you think so, chief?"

The Seneca nodded.

"A moon," he said.

"Yes, about a month," replied Peter. "The grass grows quick after the rains."

"Do you think that it was a surprise, Peter?"

"No man can tell," the hunter answered. "If we had seen the place soon afterward we might have told. There would have been marks of blood. Or if the house had stood we could have told by the bullet-holes and the color of the splintered wood how it happened and how long back. As it is, not even the chief can give ye an idea."

"Not an attack," the Seneca said; "a surprise."

"How on arth do you know that, chief?" the hunter exclaimed in surprise, and he looked round in search of some sign which would have enabled the Seneca to have given so confident an opinion. "You must be a witch, surely."

"A chief's eyes are not blind," the redskin answered, with a slight smile of satisfaction at having for once succeeded when his white comrade was at fault. "Let my friend look up the hill—two dead men there."

Harold looked in the direction in which the chief pointed, but could see nothing. The hunter exclaimed:

"There's something there, chief, but even my eyes couldn't tell they were bodies."

The party proceeded to the spot and found two skeletons. A few remnants of clothes lay around, but the birds had stripped every particle of flesh from the bones. There was a bullet in the forehead of one skull; the other was cleft with a sharp instrument.

"It's clear enough," the hunter said, "there's been a surprise. Likely enough the hull lot was killed without a shot being fired in defense."



CHAPTER XIV.

RESCUED!

Harold was deeply touched at the evidences of the fate which had befallen the occupants of his cousin's plantation.

"If there are any more of these to be found," pointing to their remains, "we might learn for a certainty whether the same fate befell them all."

The Seneca spoke a word to his followers and the four Indians spread themselves over the clearing. One more body was found—it was lying down near the water as if killed in the act of making for the canoe.

"The others are probably there," Peter said, pointing to the ruins. "The three hands was killed in the fields, and most likely the attack was made at the same moment on the house. I'm pretty sure it was so, for the body by the water lies face downward, with his head toward the lake. He was no doubt shot from behind as he was running. There must have been Injuns round the house then, or he would have made for that instead of the water."

The Seneca touched Peter on the shoulder and pointed toward the farm. A figure was seen approaching. As it came nearer they could see that he was a tall man, dressed in the deerskin shirt and leggings usually worn by hunters. As he came near Harold gave an exclamation:

"It is Jack Pearson!"

"It are Jack Pearson," the hunter said, "but for the moment I can't recollect ye, though yer face seems known. Why!" he exclaimed in changed tones, "it's that boy Harold growed into a man."

"It is," Harold replied, grasping the frontiersman's hand.

"And ye may know me, too," Peter Lambton said, "though it's twenty year since we fought side by side against the Mohawks."

"Why, old hoss, are you above ground still?" the hunter exclaimed heartily. "I'm glad to see you again, old friend. And what are you doing here, you and Harold and these Senecas? For they is Senecas, sure enough. I've been in the woods for the last hour, and have been puzzling myself nigh to death. I seed them Injuns going about over the clearing sarching, and for the life of me I couldn't think what they were a-doing. Then I seed 'em gathered down here, with two white men among 'em, so I guessed it was right to show myself."

"They were searching to see how many had fallen in this terrible business," Harold said, pointing to the ruins. The hunter shook his head.

"I'm afeared they've all gone under. I were here a week afterward; it were just as it is now. I found the three hands lying killed and sculped in the fields; the others, I reckon, is there. I has no doubt at all about Bill Welch and his wife, but it may be that the gal has been carried off."

"Do you think so?" Harold exclaimed eagerly. "If so, we may find her, too, with the other."

"What other?" Pearson, asked.

Harold gave briefly an account of the reason which had brought them to the spot and of the object they had in view.

"You can count me in," Pearson said. "There's just a chance that Nelly Welch may be in their hands still; and in any case I'm longing to draw a bead on some of the varmints to pay 'em for this," and he looked round him, "and a hundred other massacres round this frontier."

"I'm glad to hear ye say so," Peter replied. "I expected as much of ye, Jack. I don't know much of this country, having only hunted here for a few weeks with a party of Delawares twenty year afore the Iroquois moved so far west."

"I know pretty nigh every foot of it," Jack Pearson said. "When the Iroquois were quiet I used to do a deal of hunting in their country. It are good country for game."

"Well! shall we set out at once?" Harold asked, impatient to be off.

"We can't move to-night," Pearson answered; and Harold saw that Peter and the Indians agreed with him.

"Why not?" he asked. "Every hour is of importance."

"That's so," Peter said, "but there's no going out on the lake to-night. In half an hour we'll have our first snowstorm, and by morning it will be two foot deep."

Harold turned his eyes toward the lake and saw what his companions had noticed long before. The sky was overcast and a thick bank of hidden clouds was rolling up across the lake, and the thick mist seemed to hang between the clouds and the water.

"That's snow," Peter said. "It's late this year, and I'd give my pension if it was a month later."

"That's so," Pearson said. "Snow aint never pleasant in the woods, but when you're scouting round among Injuns it are a caution. We'd best make a shelter afore it comes on."

The two canoes were lifted from the water, unloaded, and turned bottom upward; a few charred planks, which had formed part of the roof of the outhouses, were brought and put up to form a sort of shelter. A fire was lit and a meal prepared. By this time the snow had begun to fall. After the meal was over pipes were lit and the two hunters earnestly talked over their plans, the Seneca chief throwing in a few words occasionally; the others listened quietly. The Indians left the matter in the hands of their chief, while Harold and Cameron knew that the two frontiersmen did not need any suggestion from them. As to Jake, the thought of asking questions never entered his mind. He was just at present less happy than usual, for the negro, like most of his race, hated cold, and the prospect of wandering through the woods in deep snow made him shudder as he crouched close to the great fire they had built.

Peter and Jack Pearson were of opinion that it was exceedingly probable that the Welches had been destroyed by the very band which had carried off little Janet Cameron. The bodies of Indians who had been on the war-path with the army had retired some six weeks before, and it was about that time, Pearson said, that the attack on the settlements had been made.

"I heard some parties of redskins who had been with the British troops had passed through the neighborhood, and there was reports that they were greatly onsatisfied with the results of the campaign. As likely as not some of that band may have been consarned in the attack on this place three year ago, and, passing nigh it, may have determined to wipe out that defeat. An Injun never forgives. Many of their braves fell here, and they could scarcely bring a more welcome trophy back to their villages than the scalps of Welch and his men."

"Now, the first thing to do," Peter said, "is to find out what particular chief took his braves with him to the war; then we've got to find his village; and there likely enough we'll find Cameron's daughter and maybe the girl from here. How old was she?"

"About fifteen," Pearson said, "and a fine girl, and a pretty girl, too. I dun know," he went on after a pause, "which of the chiefs took part in the war across the lakes, but I suspect it were War Eagle. There's three great chiefs, and the other two were trading on the frontier. It was War Eagle who attacked the place afore, and would be the more likely to attack it again if he came anywheres near it. He made a mess of it afore and 'd be burning to wipe out his failure if he had a chance."

"Where is his place?"

"His village is the furthest of them all from here. He lives up near the falls of Sault Ste. Marie, betwixt Lakes Superior and Huron. It's a village with nigh three hundred wigwams."

"It aint easy to see how it's to be done. We must make to the north shore of the lake. There'll be no working down here through the woods; but it's a pesky difficult job—about as hard a one as ever I took part in."

"It is that," Pearson said; "it can't be denied. To steal two white girls out of a big Injun village aint a easy job at no time; but with the snow on the ground it comes as nigh to an impossibility as anything can do."

For another hour or two they talked over the route they should take and their best mode of proceeding. Duncan Cameron sat and listened with an intent face to every word. Since he had joined them he had spoken but seldom; his whole soul was taken up with the thought of his little daughter. He was ever ready to do his share and more than his share of the work of paddling and at the portages, but he never joined in the conversation; and of an evening, when the others sat round the fire, he would move away and pace backward and forward in anxious thought until the fire burned low and the party wrapped themselves in their blankets and went off to sleep.

All the time the conversation had been going on the snow had fallen heavily, and before it was concluded the clearing was covered deep with the white mantle. There was little wind, and the snow fell quietly and noiselessly. At night the Indians lay down round the fire, while the white men crept under the canoes and were soon fast asleep. In the morning it was still snowing, but about noon it cleared up. It was freezing hard, and the snow glistened as the sun burst through the clouds. The stillness of the forest was broken now by sharp cracking sounds as boughs of trees gave way under the weight of the snow; in the open it lay more than two feet deep.

"Now," Peter said, "the sooner we're off the better."

"I'll come in my own canoe," Pearson said. "One of the Injuns can come with me and we'll keep up with the rest."

"There is room for you in the other canoes," Harold said.

"Plenty of room," the hunter answered. "But you see, Harold, the more canoes the better. There aint no saying how close we may be chased, and by hiding up the canoes at different places we give ourselves so much more chance of being able to get to one or the other. They're all large canoes, and at a pinch any one of them might hold the hull party, with the two gals throwed in. But," he added to Harold in a low voice, "don't you build too much on these gals, Harold. I wouldn't say so while that poor fellow's listening, but the chance is a desperate poor one, and I think we'll be mighty lucky ef we don't leave all our scalps in that 'ere redskin village." The traps were soon placed in the canoes, and just as the sun burst out the three boats started. It was a long and toilsome journey. Stormy weather set in, and they were obliged to wait for days by the lake till its surface calmed. On these occasions they devoted themselves to hunting and killed several deer. They knew that there were no Indian villages near, and in such weather it would be improbable that any redskins would be in the woods. They were enabled, therefore, to fire without fear of the reports betraying their presence. The Senecas took the opportunity of fabricating snowshoes for the whole party, as these would be absolutely necessary for walking in the woods. Harold, Jake, and Duncan Cameron at once began to practice their use. The negro was comical in the extreme in his first attempts, and shouted so loudly with laughter each time that he fell head foremost into the snow that Peter said to him angrily:

"Look-a-here, Jake; it's dangerous enough letting off a rifle at a deer in these woods, but it has to be done because we must lay in a supply of food; but a musket-shot is a mere whisper to yer shouting. Thunder aint much louder than you laughing—it shakes the hull place and might be heard from here well-nigh to Montreal. Ef you can't keep that mouth of your'n shut, ye must stop up the idee of learning to use them shoes and must stop in the canoe while we're scouting on shore."

Jake promised to amend, and from this time when he fell in the soft snow-wreaths he gave no audible vent to his amusement; but a pair of great feet, with the snow-shoes attached, could be seen waving above the surface until he was picked up and righted again.

Harold soon learned, and Cameron went at the work with grim earnestness. No smile ever crossed his face at his own accidents or at the wild vagaries of Jake, which excited silent amusement even among the Indians. In a short time the falls were less frequent, and by the time they reached the spot where they were determined to cross the lake at the point where Lakes Huron and Michigan join, the three novices were able to make fair progress in the snow-shoes.

The spot fixed upon was about twelve miles from the village of War Eagle, and the canoes were hidden at distances of three miles apart. First Pearson, Harold, and Cameron disembarked; Jake, Peter, and one of the Indians alighted at the next point; and the Seneca chief and two of his followers proceeded to the spot nearer to the Indian village. Each party as they landed struck straight into the woods, to unite at a point eight miles from the lake and as many from the village. The hunters had agreed that, should any Indians come across the tracks, less suspicion would be excited than would have been the case were they found skirting the river, as it might be thought that they were made by Indians out hunting.

Harold wondered how the other parties would find the spot to which Pearson had directed them, but in due time all arrived at the rendezvous. After some search a spot was found where the underwood grew thickly, and there was an open place in the center of the clump. In this the camp was established. It was composed solely of a low tent of about two feet high, made of deer's hides sewed together, and large enough to shelter them all. The snow was cleared away, sticks were driven into the frozen ground, and strong poles laid across them; the deerskin was then laid flat upon these. The top was little higher than the general level of the snow, an inch or two of snow was scattered over it, and to anyone passing outside the bushes the tent was completely invisible.

The Indians now went outside the thicket and with great care obliterated, as far as possible, the marks upon the snow. This could not be wholly done, but it was so far complete that the slightest wind which would send a drift over the surface would wholly conceal all traces of passage.

They had, before crossing the lake, cooked a supply of food sufficient for some days. Intense as was the cold outside, it was perfectly warm in the tent. The entrance as they crept into it was closed with a blanket, and in the center a lamp composed of deer's fat in a calabash with a cotton wick gave a sufficient light.

"What is the next move?" Harold asked.

"The chief 'll start, when it comes dusk, with Pearson," Peter said. "When they git close to the village he'll go in alone. He'll paint Iroquois before he goes."

"Cannot we be near at hand to help them in case of a necessity," Harold asked.

"No," Peter said. "It wouldn't be no good at all. Ef it comes to fighting they're fifty to one, and the lot of us would have no more chance than two. If they're found out, which aint likely, they must run for it, and they can get over the snow a deal faster than you could, to say nothing of Cameron and Jake. They must shift for themselves and 'll make straight for the nearest canoe. In the forest they must be run down sooner or later, for their tracks would be plain. No, they must go alone."

When night came on the Seneca produced his paints, and one of his followers marked his face and arms with the lines and flourishes in use by the Iroquois; then without a word of adieu he took his rifle and glided out from the tent, followed by Pearson. Peter also put on his snow-shoes and prepared to follow.

"I thought you were going to stay here, Peter."

"No, I'm going halfway with 'em. I'll be able to hear the sound of a gun. Then, ef they're trapped, we must make tracks for the canoes at once, for after following 'em to the lake they're safe to take up their back track to see where they've come from; so, ef I hear a gun, I'll make back here as quick as I can come."

When the three men had started silence fell on the tent. The redskins at once lay down to sleep, and Jake followed their example. Harold lay quiet thinking over the events which had happened to him in the last three years, while Cameron lay with his face turned toward the lamp with a set, anxious look on his face. Several times he crawled to the entrance and listened when the crack made by some breaking bough came to his ear. Hours passed and at last Harold dozed off, but Cameron's eyes never closed until about midnight the blanket at the entrance moved and Peter entered.

"Hae ye seen the ithers?" Cameron exclaimed.

"No, and were not likely to," Peter answered. "It was all still to the time I came away, and afore I moved I was sure they must have left the village. They won't come straight back, bless ye; they'll go 'way in the opposite direction and make a sweep miles round. They may not be here for hours yet; not that there's much chance of their tracks being traced. It has not snowed for over a week, and the snow round the village must be trampled thick for a mile and more, with the squaws coming and going for wood and the hunters going out on the chase. I've crossed a dozen tracks or more on my way back. Ef it wasn't for that we daren't have gone at all, for ef the snow was new fallen the sight of fresh tracks would have set the first Injun that come along a-wondering; and when a redskin begins to wonder he sets to to ease his mind at once by finding out all about it, ef it takes him a couple of days' sarch to do so. No, you can lie down now for some hours. They won't be here till morning."

So saying, the scout set the example by wrapping himself up and going to sleep, but Cameron's eyes never closed until the blanket was drawn on one side again and in the gray light of the winter morning the Seneca and Pearson crawled into the tent.

"What news?" Harold asked, for Cameron was too agitated to speak.

"Both gals are there," Pearson answered.

An exclamation of thankfulness broke from Harold. A sob of joy issued from the heart of the Scotchman, and for a few minutes his lips moved as he poured forth his silent thankfulness to God.

"Waal, tell us all about it," Peter said. "I can ask the chief any questions afterward."

"We went on straight enough to the village," the hunter began. "It are larger than when I saw it last, and War Eagle's influence in the tribe must have increased. I didn't expect to find no watch, the redskins having, so far as they knew, no enemies within five hundred mile of 'em. There was a lot of fires burning and plenty of redskins moving about among 'em. We kept on till we got quite close, and then we lay up for a time below a tree at the edge of the clearing. There were a sight too many of 'em about for the Seneca to go in yet awhile. About half an hour arter we got there we saw two white gals come outen one of the wigwams and stand for a while to warm theirselves by one of the fires. The tallest of the two, well-nigh a woman, was Nelly Welch. I knew her, in course. The other was three or four years younger, with yaller hair over her shoulders. Nelly seemed quiet and sad-like, but the other 'peared more at home—she laughed with some of the redskin gals and even jined in their play. You see," he said, turning to Cameron, "she'd been captured longer and children's spirits soon rise again. Arter a while they went back to the wigwam." When the fires burned down and the crowd thinned, and there was only a few left sitting in groups round the embers, the Seneca started. For a long time I saw nothing of him, but once or twice I thought I saw a figure moving among the wigwams. Presently the fires burned quite down and the last Injun went off. I had begun to wonder what the chief was doing, when he stood beside me. We made tracks at once and have been tramping in a long circle all night. The chief can tell ye his part of the business hisself."

"Well, chief, what have you found out?" Peter asked.

The Indian answered in his native tongue, which Peter interpreted from time to time for the benefit of his white companions:

"When Deer Tail left the white hunter he went into the village. It was no use going among the men, and he went round by the wigwams and listened to the chattering of the squaws. The tribe were all well contented, for the band brought back a great deal of plunder which they had picked up on their way back from the army. They had lost no braves and everyone was pleased. The destruction of the settlement of the white man who had repulsed them before was a special matter for rejoicing. The scalps of the white man and his wife are in the village. War Eagle's son, Young Elk, is going to marry the white girl. There are several of the braves whose heads have been turned by the white skin and her bright eyes, but Young Elk is going to have her. There have been great feastings and rejoicings since the return of the warriors, but they are to be joined tomorrow by Beaver's band, and then they will feast again. When all was quiet I went to the wigwam where the white girls are confined. An old squaw and two of War Eagle's daughters are with them. Deer Tail had listened while they prepared for rest and knew on which side of the wigwam the tall white maiden slept. He thought that she would be awake. Her heart would be sad and sleep would not come to her soon, so he crept round there and cut a slit in the skin close to where she lay. He put his head in at the hole and whispered, 'Do not let the white girl be afraid; it is a friend. Does she hear him?' She whispered, 'Yes.' 'Friends are near,' he said. 'The young warrior Harold, whom she knows, and others, are at hand to take her away. The Iroquois will be feasting to-morrow night. When she hears the cry of a night-owl let her steal away with her little white sister and she will find her friends waiting.' Then Deer Tail closed the slit and stole away to his friend the white hunter. I have spoken."

"Jest what I expected of you, chief," Peter said warmly. "I thought as how you'd manage to git speech with 'em somehow. If there's a feast to-night, it's hard ef we don't manage to get 'em off."

"I suppose we must lie still all day, Peter."

"You must so," the hunter said. "Not a soul must show his nose outside the tent except that one of the redskins'll keep watch to be sure that no straggler has come across our tracks and followed 'em up. Ef he was to do that, he might bring the hull gang down on us. Ye'd best get as much sleep as ye can, for ye don't know when ye may get another chance."

At nightfall the whole party issued from the tent and started toward the Indian village. All arrangements had been made. It was agreed that Pearson and the Seneca should go up to the village, the former being chosen because he was known to Nelly. Peter and one of the redskins were to take post a hundred yards further back, ready to give assistance in case of alarm, while the rest were to remain about half a mile distant. Cameron had asked that he might go with the advance party, but upon Peter pointing out to him that his comparatively slow rate of progression in snow-shoes would, in case of discovery, lead to the recapture of the girls, he at once agreed to the decision. If the flight of the girls was discovered soon after leaving the camp, it was arranged that the Seneca and Peter should hurry at once with them to the main body, while the other two Indians should draw off their pursuers in another direction. In the event of anything occurring to excite the suspicion of the Indians before there was a chance of the girls being brought safely to the main body, they were to be left to walk quietly back to camp, as they had nothing to fear from the Indians. Peter and the Seneca were then to work round by a circuitous route to the boat, where they were to be joined by the main body, and to draw off until another opportunity offered for repeating the attempt.

It was eight o'clock in the evening when Pearson and the Seneca approached the village. The fires were burning high, and seated round them were all the warriors of the tribe. A party were engaged in a dance representing the pursuit and defeat of an enemy. The women were standing in an outer circle, clapping their hands and raising their voices in loud cries of applause and excitement as the dance became faster and faster. The warriors bounded high, brandishing their tomahawks. A better time could not have been chosen for the evasion of the fugitives. Nelly Welch stood close to a number of Indian girls, but slightly behind them. She held the hand of little Janet Cameron.

Although she appeared to share in the interest of the Indians in the dance, a close observer would have had no difficulty in perceiving that Nelly was preoccupied. She was, indeed, intently listening for the signal. She was afraid to move from among the others lest her absence should be at once detected, but so long as the noise was going on she despaired of being able to hear the signal agreed upon. Presently an Indian brave passed close to her, and as he did so whispered in her ear in English, "Behind your wigwam—friends there." Then he passed on and moved round the circle as if intending to take his seat at another point.

The excitement of the dance was momentarily increasing, and the attention of the spectators was riveted to the movements of the performers. Holding Janet's hand, Nelly moved noiselessly away from the place where she had been standing. The movement was unnoticed, as she was no longer closely watched, a flight in the depth of winter appearing impossible. She kept round the circle till no longer visible from the spot she had left. Then, leaving the crowd, she made her way toward the nearest wigwams. Once behind these the girls stole rapidly along under their shelter until they stood behind that which they usually inhabited. Two figures were standing there. They hesitated for a moment, but one of them advanced.

"Jack Pearson!" Nelly exclaimed, with a low cry of gladness.

"Jest that same, Nelly, and right glad to see you. But we've no time for greeting now; the hull tribe may be after us in another five minutes. Come along, pretty," he said, turning to Janet. "You'll find somebody ye know close at hand."

Two minutes later the child was in her father's arms, and after a moment's rapturous greeting between father and child and a very delighted one between Nelly Welch and her Cousin Harold, the flight was continued.

"How long a start do you think we may have?"

"Half an hour, maybe. The women may be some time afore they miss her, and they'll sarch for her everywhere afore they give the alarm, as they'll be greatly blamed for their carelessness."

There had been a pause in the flight for a few seconds when the Seneca and Pearson arrived with the girls at the point where Peter and the other Indian were posted, two hundred yards from the camp. Up to this point the snow was everywhere thickly trampled, but as the camp was left further behind the footprints would naturally become more scarce. Here Pearson fastened to the girls' feet two pairs of large moccasins; inside these wooden soles had been placed. They therefore acted to some extent like snowshoes and prevented the girls' feet from sinking deeply, while the prints which they left bore no resemblance to their own. They were strapped on the wrong way, so that the marks would seem to point toward the village rather than away from it. Both girls protested that they should not be able to get along fast in these encumbrances, but one of the men posted himself on either side of each and assisted them along, and as the moccasins were very light, even with the wooden soles inside, they were soon able to move with them at a considerable pace.

Once united the whole party kept along at the top of their speed. Peter Lambton assisted Cameron with Janet, and the girl, half-lifted from the ground, skimmed over the surface like a bird, only touching the snow here and there with the moccasins. Nelly Welch needed no assistance from Harold or Pearson. During the long winters she had often practiced on snow-shoes, and was consequently but little encumbered with the huge moccasins, which to some extent served the same purpose.

They had been nearly half an hour on their way when they heard a tremendous yell burst from the village.

"They've missed you," Peter said. "Now it's a fair race. We've got a good start and 'll git more, for they'll have to hunt up the traces very carefully, and it may be an hour, perhaps more, before they strike upon the right one. Ef the snow had been new fallen we should have had 'em arter us in five minutes; but even a redskin's eye will be puzzled to find out at night one track among such hundreds."

"I have but one fear," Pearson said to Harold.

"What is that?"

"I'm afeared that without waiting to find the tracks they may send off half a dozen parties to the lake. They'll be sure that friends have taken the gals away, and will know that their only chance of escape is by the water. On land we should be hunted down to a certainty, and the redskins, knowing that the gals could not travel fast, will not hurry in following up the trail. So I think they'll at once send off parties to watch the lake, and 'll like enough make no effort to take up the trail till to-morrow morning."

This was said in a low whisper, for although they were more than two miles from the village it was necessary to move as silently as possible.

"You had best tell the others what you think, Pearson. It may make a difference in our movements."

A short halt was called, and the Seneca and Peter quite agreed with Pearson's idea.

"We'd best make for the canoe that's furthest off. When the redskins find the others, which they're pretty sure to do, for they'll hunt every bush, they're likely to be satisfied and to make sure they'll ketch us at one or the other."

This much decided upon, they continued their flight, now less rapidly, but in perfect silence. Speed was less an object than concealment. The Indians might spread, and a party might come across them by accident. If they could avoid this, they were sure to reach their canoe before morning and unlikely to find the Indians there before them.

It was about twelve miles to the spot where they had hidden the canoe, and although they heard distant shouts and whoops ringing through the forest, no sound was heard near them.



CHAPTER XV.

THE ISLAND REFUGE.

The night was intensely cold and still and the stars shone brightly through the bare boughs overhead. "Are you sure you are going all right?" Nelly asked Harold. "It is so dark here that it seems impossible to know which way we are going." "You can trust the Indians," Harold said. "Even if there was not a star to be seen they could find their way by some mysterious instinct. How you are grown, Nelly! Your voice does not seem much changed, and I am longing to see your face."

"I expect you are more changed than I am, Harold," the girl answered. "You have been going through so much since we last met, and you seem to have grown so tall and big. Your voice has changed very much, too; it is the voice of a man. How in the world did you find us here?"

Pearson had gone on ahead to speak to the Seneca, but he now joined them again.

"You mustn't talk," he said. "I hope there's no redskins within five miles of us now, but there's never any saying where they may be."

There was, Harold thought, a certain sharpness in the hunter's voice, which told of a greater anxiety than would be caused by the very slight risk of the quietly spoken words being heard by passing redskins, and he wondered what it could be.

They were now, he calculated, within a mile of the hiding place where they had left the boat, and they had every reason for believing that none of the Indians would be likely to have followed the shore so far. That they would be pursued and that, in so heavily laden a canoe, they would have great difficulty in escaping, he was well aware, but he relied on the craft of the hunters and Senecas for throwing their pursuers off the trail.

All at once the trees seemed to open in front, and in a few minutes the party reached the river. A cry of astonishment and of something akin to terror broke from Harold. As far as the eye could reach the lake was frozen. Their escape was cut off.

"That's jest what I've been expecting," Pearson said. "The ice had begun to form at the edge when we landed, and three days and nights of such frost as we've had since was enough to freeze Ontario. What on arth's to be done?"

No one answered. Peter and the redskins had shared Pearson's anxiety, but to Harold and Cameron the disappointment was a terrible one; as to Jake, he left all the thinking to be done by the others. Harold stood gazing helplessly on the expanse of ice which covered the water. It was not a smooth sheet, but was rough and broken, as if, while it had been forming, the wind had broken the ice up into cakes again and again, while the frost as often had bound them together.

They had struck the river within a few hundred yards of the place where the canoe was hidden, and, after a short consultation between the Seneca chief, Peter Lambton, and Pearson, moved down toward that spot.

"What are you thinking of doing?" Harold asked when they gathered round the canoe.

"We're going to load ourselves with the ammunition and deer's flesh," Peter said, "and make for a rocky island which lies about a mile off here. I noticed it as we landed. There's nothing to do but to fight it out to the last there. It are a good place for defense, for the redskins won't like to come out across the open, and, even covered by a dark night, they'd show on this white surface."

"Perhaps they won't trace us."

"Not trace us!" the trapper repeated scornfully. "Why, when daylight comes, they'll pick up our track and follow it as easy as you could that of a wagon across the snow."

They were just starting when Harold gave a little exclamation.

"What is it, lad?"

"A flake of snow fell on my face."

All looked up. The stars had disappeared. Another flake and another fell on the upturned faces of the party.

"Let's thank the great God," Peter said quietly. "There's a chance for our lives yet. Half an hour's snow and the trail 'll be lost."

Faster and faster the snowflakes came down. Again the leaders consulted.

"We must change our plans, now," Peter said, turning to the others. "So long as they could easily follow our tracks it mattered nothing that they'd find the canoe here; but now it's altogether different. We must take it along with us."

The weight of the canoe was very small. The greater part of its contents had already been removed. There was a careful look round to see that nothing remained on the bank; then four of the men lifted it on their shoulders, and the whole party stepped out upon the ice. The snow was now falling heavily, and to Harold's eyes there was nothing to guide them in the direction they were following. Even the Indians would have been at a loss had not the Seneca, the instant the snow began to fall, sent on one of his followers at full speed toward the island. Harold wondered at the time what his object could be as the Indian darted off across the ice, but now he understood. Every minute or two the low hoot of an owl was heard, and toward this sound the party directed their way through the darkness and snow.

So heavy was the fall that the island rose white before them as they reached it. It was of no great extent—some twenty or thirty yards across, and perhaps twice that length. It rose steeply from the water to a height of from ten to fifteen feet. The ground was rough and broken, and several trees and much brushwood grew in the crevices of the rock.

The Seneca and the hunters made a rapid examination of the island, and soon fixed upon the spot for their camp. Toward one end the island was split in two, and an indentation ran some distance up into it. Here a clear spot was found some three or four feet above the level of the water. It was completely hidden by thick bushes from the sight of anyone approaching by water. There the canoe was turned over, and the girls, who were both suffering from the intense cold, were wrapped up in blankets and placed under its shelter. The camp was at the lower end of the island and would, therefore, be entirely hidden from view of Indians gathered upon the shore. In such a snowstorm light would be invisible at a very short distance, and Peter did not hesitate to light a fire in front of the canoe.

For three hours the snow continued to fall. The fire had been sheltered by blankets stretched at some distance above it. Long before the snow ceased it had sunk down to a pile of red embers. A small tent had now been formed of blankets for the use of the girls; brushwood had been heaped over this, and upon the brushwood snow had been thrown, the whole making a shelter which would be warm and comfortable in the bitterest weather. A pile of hot embers was placed in this little tent until it was thoroughly heated; blankets were then spread, and the girls were asked to leave the shelter of the canoe and take their place there.

The canoe itself was now raised on four sticks three feet from the ground; bushes were laid round it and snow piled on, thus forming the walls of which the canoe was the roof. All this was finished long before the snow had ceased falling, and this added a smooth white surface all over, so that, to a casual eye, both tent and hut looked like two natural ridges of the ground. They were a cheerful party which assembled in the little hut. The remainder of the embers of the fire had been brought in, and, intense as was the cold outside, it was warm and comfortable within. Tea was made and pipes filled, and they chatted some time before going to sleep.

Duncan Cameron was like a man transfigured. His joy and thankfulness for the recovery of his daughter were unbounded. Harold's pleasure, too, at the rescue of his cousin was very great, and the others were all gratified at the success of their expedition. It was true that the Indians had as yet gained no scalps, but Harold had promised them before starting that, should the expedition be successful, they should be handsomely rewarded.

"We mustn't reckon as we are safe yet," Peter said in answer to one of Harold's remarks. "The redskins aint going to let us slip through their fingers so easy as all that. They've lost our trail and have nothing but their senses to guide 'em, but an Injun's senses aint easily deceived in these woods. Ef this snow begins again and keeps on for two or three days they may be puzzled; but ef it stops they'll cast a circle round their camp at a distance beyond where we could have got before the snow ceased, and ef they find no new trails they'll know that we must be within that circle. Then, as to the boats, when they find as we don't come down to the two as they've discovered, and that we've not made off by land, they'll guess as there was another canoe hidden somewhere, and they'll sarch high and low for it. Waal, they won't find it; and then they'll suppose that we may have taken to the ice, and they'll sarch that. Either they'll git to open water or to the other side. Ef there's open water anywhere within a few miles they may conclude that we've carried a canoe, launched it there, and made off. In that case, when they've sarched everywhere, they may give it up. Ef there aint no such open water, they'll sarch till they find us. It aint likely that this island will escape 'em. With nine good rifles here we can hold the place against the hull tribe, and as they'd show up against the snow, they can no more attack by night than by day."

"I don't think our food will hold out beyond seven or eight days," Harold said.

"Jest about that," Peter answered; "but we can cut a hole in the ice and fish, and can hold out that way, if need be, for weeks. The wust of it is that the ice aint likely to break up now until the spring. I reckon our only chance is to wait till we git another big snowstorm and then to make off. The. snow will cover our trail as fast as we make it, and, once across to the other shore, we may git away from the varmints. But I don't disguise from you, Harold, that we're in a very awk'ard trouble, and that it 'll need all the craft of the chief, here, and all the experience of Pearson and me to get us out of it."

"The guid God has been vera merciful to us sae far," Duncan Cameron said; "he will surely protect us to the end. Had he na sent the snow just when he did, the savages could hae followed our trail at once; it was a miracle wrought in our favor. He has aided us to rescue the twa bairns frae the hands of the Indians, and we may surely trust in his protection to the end. My daughter and her friend hae, I am very sure, before lying down to sleep, entreated his protection. Let us a' do the same."

And the old soldier, taking off his cap, prayed aloud to God to heed and protect them.

Harold and the frontiersmen also removed their caps and joined in the prayer, and the Senecas looked on, silent and reverent, at an act of worship which was rare among their white companions.

As Peter was of opinion that there was no chance whatever of any search on the part of the Indians that night, and therefore there was no need to set a watch, the whole party wrapped themselves up in their blankets and were soon asleep.

When Harold woke next morning it was broad daylight. The Senecas had already been out and had brought news that a strong party of Indians could be seen moving along the edge of the forest, evidently searching for a canoe. One of the Indians was placed on watch, and two or three hours later he reported that the Indians were now entirely out of sight and were, when last seen, scouting along the edge of the forest.

"Now," Peter said, "the sooner we git another snowstorm the better. Ef we'd been alone we could have pushed on last night, but the gals was exhausted and would soon have died of the cold. Now, with a fresh start they'd do. Ef we can't cross the lake I calculate that we're about thirty mile from a p'int on the north shore below the falls of Ste. Marie, and we could land there and strike across through the woods for the settlement. It'd be a terrible long journey round the north of Huron, but we must try it ef we can't get across."

"But we could go off by night, surely," Harold said, "even if there is no fresh snow."

"We could do that," Peter replied; "no doubt of it. But ef they were to find our track the next day, ay, or within three days, they'd follow us and overtake us afore we got to the settlements. Ef we was alone, it'd be one thing; but with the gals it'd be another altogether. No, we must stop here till a snowstorm comes, even if we have to stop for a month. There's no saying how soon some of them Injuns may be loafing round, and we daren't leave a trail for 'em to take up."

They had scarcely ceased speaking when a low call from the Indian placed on watch summoned the chief to his side. A minute later the latter rejoined the group below and said a few words to Peter.

"Jest as I thought!" the latter grumbled, rising with his rifle across his arm. "Here are some of the varmints coming out this 'ere way. Likely enough it's a party of young braves jest scouting about on their own account, to try and get honor by discovering us when their elders have failed. It would have been better for them to have stopped at home."

The party now crept up to the top of the rock, keeping carefully below its crest.

"Ef you show as much as a hair above the top line," Peter said, "they'll see you, sartin."

"Would it not be well," Harold asked, "for one of us to show himself? There is no possibility of further concealment, and if they go off without any of them being killed the others might be less bitter against us than they would if they had lost some of their tribe."

Peter laughed scornfully.

"Ye haven't had much to do with Injuns, lad, but I should have thought you'd have had better sense nor that. Haven't these Injuns been a-murdering and a-slaying along the frontier all the summer, falling on defenseless women and children? Marcy and pity aint in their natur, and, fight or no fight, our scalps will dry in their wigwams if they get us into their power. They know that we can shoot and mean to, and that 'll make 'em careful of attacking us, and every hour is important. Now," he said to the others, "each of you cover a man and fire straight through your sights when I gives the word. There's others watching 'em, you may be sure, and ef the whole five go down together, it'll make 'em think twice afore they attack us again."

Peering between some loose rocks, so that he could see without exposing his head above the line, Harold watched the five Indians approaching. They had evidently some doubts as to the wisdom of the course they were pursuing, and were well aware that they ran a terrible risk standing there in the open before the rifles of those concealed, should the fugitives be really there. Nevertheless, the hope of gaining distinction and the fear of ridicule from those watching them on shore, should they turn back with their mission unaccomplished, inspired them with resolution. When within three hundred yards of the island they halted for a long time. They stood gazing fixedly; but, although no signs of life could be perceived, they were too well versed in Indian warfare to gain any confidence from the apparent stillness. Throwing themselves flat on the snow and following each other in single line, by which means their bodies were nearly concealed from sight in the track which their leader made through the light, yielding snow, they made a complete circuit of the island. They paused for some time opposite the little forked entrance in which the camp was situated, but apparently saw nothing, for they kept round until they completed the circuit.

When they reached the point from which they had started there was, apparently, a short consultation among them. Then they continued their course in the track that they had before made until they reached a spot facing the camp. Then they changed order, and, still prone in the snow, advanced abreast toward the island.

"The varmints have guessed that, if we are here, this is the place where we'd be hid," Peter whispered in Harold's ear.

As the Indians made their circuit the party in the island had changed their position so as always to keep out of sight. They were now on the top of the island, which was a sort of rough plateau. The girls had been warned, when they left them, to remain perfectly quiet in their shelter whatever noise they might hear. Peter and the Seneca watched the Indians through holes which they had made with their ramrods through a bank of snow. The others remained flat in the slight depression behind it. At the distance of one hundred and fifty yards the Indians stopped.

"The varmints see something!" Peter said. "Maybe they can make out the two snow heaps through the bushes; maybe they can see some of our footsteps in the snow. They're going to fire!" he exclaimed. "Up, lads! They may send a bullet into the hut whar the gals is hid."

In an instant the line of men sprang to their feet. The Indians, taken by surprise at the sudden appearance of a larger number of enemies than they expected, fired a hasty volley and then sprang to their feet and dashed toward the shore. But they were deadly rifles which covered them. Peter, Harold, and Pearson could be trusted not to miss even a rapidly moving object at that distance, and the men were all good shots. Not in regular order, but as each covered his man, the rifles were discharged. Four out of the five Indians fell, and an arm of the fifth dropped useless by his side; however, he still kept on. The whites reloaded rapidly, and Harold was about to fire again when Pearson put his hand on his shoulder.

"Don't fire! We've shown them that we can shoot straight. It's jest as well at present that they shouldn't know how far our rifles will carry."

The four Senecas dashed out across the snow and speedily returned, each with a scalp hanging at his belt.

A loud yell of anger and lamentation had risen from the woods skirting the shore as the Indians fell, but after this died away deep silence reigned.

"What will be their next move?" Cameron asked Peter, as they gathered again in their low hut, having placed one of the Indians on watch.

"We'll hear nothing of 'em till nightfall," Peter said. "Their first move, now they know as we're here, will be to send off to fetch up all the tribe who're in search of us. When it comes on dark they'll send scouts outside of us on the ice to see as we don't escape—not that they'd much mind ef we did, for they could track us through the snow and come up with us whenever they chose. No, they may be sure we'll stay where we are. It may be they'll attack us to-night, maybe not. It'd be a thing more risksome than redskins often undertake to cross the snow under the fire of nine rifles. I aint no doubt they'd try and starve us out, for they must know well enough that we can have no great store of provisions. But they know as well as we do that, if another snowstorm comes on, we might slip away from 'em without leaving a foot-mark behind. It's jest that thought as may make 'em attack."

"Well, we can beat them off, if they do," Harold said confidently.

"Waal, we may and we may not," the scout answered. "Anyhow we can kill a grist of 'em afore they turn us out on this 'ere island."

"That's sartin enough," Pearson put in; "but they're a strong tribe, and ef they can harden their hearts and make a rush it's all up with us. I allow that it's contrary to their custom, but when they see no other way to do with, they may try."

"I suppose if they do try a rush," Harold said, "they will do it against this end of the island?"

"Yes, you may bet your money on that," the scout answered. "In other places the rock goes pretty nigh straight up from the water, but here it's an easy landing. Being so close to 'em they're sure to know all about it; but even if they didn't, the chap that got away would tell 'em. I don't much expect an attack to-night—the bands won't be back yet. They'll have a grand palaver to-night, and there'll be a big talk afore they decide what is best to be done; so I think we're safe for to-night. To-morrow we'll set to work and build a shelter for the pretty ones up above, where they'll be safe from stray shots. Then we'll throw up a breastwork with loose rocks on the top of the slope round this cove, so as to give it to 'em hot when they land."

"You have plenty of powder?" Harold asked.

"Dollops," Peter replied; "more'n we could fire away if we was besieged here for a month."

"Then you could spare me twenty pounds or so?"

"We could spare you a whole keg if you like; we've got three full. But what are you thinking of now, young un?"

"I was thinking," Harold answered, "of forming a line of holes, say three feet apart, in the ice across the mouth of the cove. If we were to charge them with powder and lay a train between them, we could, when the first dozen or so have passed the line, fire the train and break up the ice. This would prevent the others following, and give them such a bad scare that they would probably make off, and we could easily deal with those who had passed the line before we fired it."

"That's a good idea of yours, lad. A fust-rate idea. The ice must be a foot thick by this time, and ef you put in your charges eight inches and tamp 'em well down you'll shiver the ice for a long way round. The idea is a fust-rate one."

Pearson and Cameron assisted in the work, and the Indians, when Peter had explained the plan to them, gave deep gutteral exclamations of surprise and approval. The process of blasting was one wholly unknown to them.

"I will mak' the holes," Cameron said. "I hae seen a deal of blasting when I was in the army. I can heat the end of a ramrod in a fire and hammer it into the shape of a borer."

"A better way than that, Cameron," Harold said, "will be to heat the end of a ramrod white-hot. You will melt holes in the ice in half the time it would take you to bore them. That was what I was thinking of doing."

"Right you are, lad!" Pearson said. "Let's set about it at once."

A large fire was now lighted outside the hut, for there was no longer any occasion for secrecy. The ends of three or four of the ramrods were placed in the fire, and two lines of holes were bored in the ice across the mouth of the little cove. These lines were twelve feet apart, and they calculated that the ice between them would be completely broken up, even if the fractures did not extend a good way beyond the lines. The holes were of rather larger diameter than the interior of a gun barrel. It was found that the ice was about fifteen inches thick, and the holes were taken down ten inches. Three or four charges of powder were placed in each; a stick of a quarter of an inch in diameter was then placed in each hole, and pounded ice was rammed tightly in around it until the holes were filled up, a few drops of water being poured in on the top, so as to freeze the whole into a solid mass. There was no fear of the powder being wetted, for the frost was intense. Then the sticks were withdrawn and the holes left filled with powder. With the heated ramrods little troughs were sunk half an inch deep, connecting the tops of the holes; lines of powder were placed in these trenches; narrow strips of skin were laid over them, and the snow was then thrown on again. The two lines of trenches were connected at the ends at the shore, so that they could be fired simultaneously.

While the men were occupied with this work the girls had cooked some venison steaks and made some cakes.

It was just nightfall when they had finished, and all sat down and enjoyed a hearty meal. Peter and one of the Senecas undertook the watch for half the night, when they were to be relieved by Pearson and the chief. The early part of the night passed off quietly, but an hour before morning the party were aroused by the sharp crack of two rifles. Seizing their arms, all rushed out.

"What is it, Pearson?"

"Two of their scouts," Pearson answered, pointing to two dark bodies on the snow at a distance of about one hundred yards. "I suppose they wanted to see ef we was on the watch. We made 'em out almost as soon as they left the shore, but we let 'em come on until we was sartin of our aim. There aint no more about as we can see, so ye can all turn in again for another hour or two."

There was no fresh alarm before morning, and, when the sun rose, it shone over a wide expanse of snow, unbroken save where lay the bodies of the two Indians—whose scalps already hung at the belt of the Seneca—and those of their four comrades who had fallen in the first attack.

The day passed quietly. Toward the afternoon two Indians were seen approaching from the shore. They were unarmed and held their hands aloft as a sign of amity. Peter and Pearson at once laid down their guns, left the island, and advanced to meet them. They were Indian chiefs of importance.

"Why have my white brothers stolen in at night upon the village of War Eagle and slain his young men?"

"It is what you have been doing all last year, chief," Pearson, who spoke the dialect better than Peter, replied. "But we injured no one. We didn't kill women and children, as your warriors have done in the white villages. We only came to take what you had stolen from us, and ef your young men have been killed it's only because they tried to attack us."

"The white men must see," the chief said, "that they cannot get away. The water is hard, and their canoe will not swim in it. The snow is deep, and the tender feet cannot walk through it. My warriors are very numerous, and the white men cannot fight their way through them. The white settlements are very far away, and their friends cannot reach them; and it will be many months before the water softens, and long before that the white men will have eaten their moccasins."

"Waal, chief," Pearson said, "we're in a tight hole, I grant you; but I'm far from allowing that we aint no chances left to us yet. What do you propose? I suppose you've some proposition to make."

"Let the white men leave behind them their guns and their powder and the maidens they have taken from War Eagle's camp; then let them go in peace. They shall not be harmed."

Pearson gave a short laugh.

"War Eagle must think the white men are foolish. What's to prevent the red warriors from taking all our scalps when our arms are in their hands?"

"The word of a great chief," War Eagle said. "War Eagle never lies."

"You may not lie, chief," Pearson said bluntly, "but I've known many a treaty broken afore now. You and your people may not touch us, but there's other redskins about, and I wouldn't give a beaver's skin for our sculps ef we were to take the back trail to the settlements without arms in our hands. Besides that, we've among us the father of the gal who was stole far away off from Lake Champlain, and a relative of hers whose parents you've killed down on the lake. Ef we were to agree to give up our arms, it stands to reason it aint likely they'd agree to give up the gals. No, no, chief; your terms aren't reasonable. But I tell ye what we will do; ef you'll give us your word that neither you nor your tribe'll molest us in our retreat we'll go back to the settlements, and 'll engage that, when we get back there, we'll send you nine of the best rifles money can buy, with plenty of powder and ball, and blankets and such like."

The chief waved his hand in contemptuous refusal of the terms.

"There are six of my young men's scalps at your girdles, and their places are empty. War Eagle has spoken."

"Very well, chief," Pearson said. "Ef nothing but sculps will content you, to fighting it must come; but I warn you that your tribe'll lose a good many more afore they get ours."

So saying, without another word, they separated, each party making their way back to their friends.

"What on earth can he have proposed such terms as those for?" Harold asked, when Pearson had related what had taken place between him and the chief. "He must have known we should not accept them."

"I expect," Pearson said, "he wanted to see who we were and to judge what sort of spirit we had. It may be, too, that there was a party among the tribe who had no stomachs for the job of attacking this place, and so he was obliged to make a show of offering terms to please 'em; but he never meant as they should be accepted. No, I take it they'll wait a few days to see what hunger'll do. They must be pretty sure that we've not a very large supply of food."



CHAPTER XVI.

THE GREAT STORM.

"Let us overhaul our packages," Harold said, "and see what provisions we have left. It would be as well to know how we stand."

It was found that they had a sufficient supply of flour to last, with care, for a fortnight. The meal was nearly exhausted; of tea they had an abundance; the sugar was nearly out, and they had three bottles of spirits.

"Could we not make the flour last more than the fourteen days by putting ourselves on half rations?" Harold asked.

"We might do that," Peter said, "but I tell you the rations would be small even for fourteen days. We've calkilated according to how much we eat when we've plenty of meat, but without meat it'd be only a starvation ration to each. Fortunately we've fish-hooks and lines, and by making holes in the ice we can get as many fish as we like. Waal, we can live on them alone, if need be, and an ounce or two of flour, made into cakes, will be enough to go with 'em. That way the flour would last us pretty nigh two months. I don't say that, if the wust comes to the wust, we might not hold on right to the spring on fish. The lake's full of 'em, and some of 'em have so much oil in 'em that they're nigh as good as meat."

"Do you think, Peter, that if the Indians make one great attack and are beaten off they will try again?"

"No one can say," Peter answered. "Injun natur' can't never be calkilated on. I should say if they got a thundering beating they aint likely to try again; but there's never no saying."

"The sooner they attack and get it o'er the better," Cameron said. "I hae na slept a wink the last twa nights. If I doze off for a moment I wake up, thinking I hear their yells. I am as ready to fight as ony o' you when the time comes, but the thought o' my daughter, here, makes me nervous and anxious. What do you say, Jake?"

"It all de same to Jake, Massa Cameron. Jake sleeps bery sound, but he no like de tought ob eating nothing but fish for five or six months. Jake neber bery fond ob fish."

"You'll like it well enough when you get used to it, Jake," Pearson said. "It's not bad eating on a pinch, only you want to eat a sight of it to satisfy you. Well, let's see how the fish'll bite."

Four holes were cut in the ice at a short distance apart. The hooks were attached to strong lines and baited with deer's flesh, and soon the fishing began. The girls took great interest in the proceeding. Nelly was an adept at the sport, having generally caught the fish for the consumption of the household at home. She took charge of one of the lines, Harold of another, while Jake and one of the Senecas squatted themselves by the other holes. There had been some discussion as to whether the fishing should take place on the side of the island facing the shore or behind the rocks, but the former was decided upon. This was done because all were anxious that the expected attack should take place as soon as possible, and the event was likely to be hastened when the Indians saw that they were provided with lines and were thus able to procure food for a considerable time.

It was soon manifest that, if they could live upon fish, they need feel no uneasiness as to its supply. Scarcely had the lines been let down than fish were fast to them. Harold and the other men soon had trout, from three to six pounds, lying on the ice beside them, but Nelly was obliged to call Pearson to her assistance, and the fish, when brought to the surface, was found to be over twenty pounds in weight. An hour's fishing procured them a sufficient supply for a week's consumption. There was no fear as to the fish keeping, for in a very short time after being drawn from the water they were frozen stiff and hard. They were hung up to some boughs near the huts, and the party were glad enough to get into shelter again, for the cold was intense.

As before, the early part of the night passed quietly; but toward morning Peter, who was on watch, ran down and awakened the others.

"Get your shooting-irons and hurry up," he said. "The varmints are coming this time in arnest."

In a minute everyone was at the post assigned to him. A number of dark figures could be seen coming over the ice.

"There's nigh two hundred of 'em," Peter said. "War Eagle has brought the whole strength of his tribe."

Contrary to their usual practice the Indians did not attempt to crawl up to the place they were about to attack, but advanced at a run across the ice. The defenders lost not a moment in opening fire, for some of their rifles would carry as far as the shore.

"Shoot steady," Peter said. "Don't throw away a shot."

Each man loaded and fired as quickly as he could, taking a steady aim, and the dark figures which dotted the ice behind the advancing Indians showed that the fire was an effectual one. The Indians did not return a shot. Their chief had, no doubt, impressed upon them the uselessness of firing against men lying in shelter, and had urged them to hurry at the top of their speed to the island and crush the whites in a hand-to-hand fight.

It was but three or four minutes from the time the first shot was fired before they were close to the island. They made, as Peter had expected, toward the little cove, which was indeed the only place at which a landing could well be effected. Harold ran down and hid himself in a bush at the spot where the train terminated, carrying with him a glowing brand from the fire.

"War Eagle means to have our sculps this time," Peter said to Pearson. "I never seed an uglier rush. White men couldn't have done better."

The Indians had run in scattered order across the ice, but they closed up as they neared the cove. As they rushed toward it four fell beneath the shots of half the defenders, and another four a few seconds later from a volley by the other section.

In a wonderfully short time the first were ready again, and the Indians wavered at the slaughter and opened fire upon the breastwork, behind which the defenders were crouching. Those behind pressed on, and, with terrific yells, the mass of Indians bounded forward.

Harold had remained inactive, crouching behind the bush. He saw the head of the dark mass rush past him and then applied the brand to the train.

There was a tremendous explosion. Yells and screams rent the air, and in an instant a dark line of water, twenty feet wide, stretched across the mouth of the cove.

In this were pieces of floating ice and numbers of Indians struggling and yelling. Some made only a faint struggle before they sank, while others struck out for the side furthest from the island.

The main body of the Indians, appalled by the explosion, checked themselves in their course and at once took to flight; some, unable to check their impetus, fell into the water upon the wounded wretches who were struggling there. Those who had crossed stood irresolute, and then, turning, leaped into the water. As they struggled to get out on the opposite side the defenders maintained a deadly fire upon them, but, in two or three minutes, the last survivor had scrambled out, and all were in full flight toward the shore.

"I think we've seen the last of the attacks," Peter said, as they came down from their breastwork and joined Harold in the cove. "That was a first-rate notion of yours, lad. Ef it hadn't been for that we should have been rubbed out, sure enough; another minute and we'd have gone down. They were in arnest and no mistake; they'd got steam up and was determined to finish with us at once, whatever it cost 'em."

The instant the attack had ceased Cameron had hastened to the hut where the girls were lying, to assure them that all danger was over and that the Indians were entirely defeated. In an hour a fresh skim of ice had formed across the streak of water, but, as through its clear surface many of the bodies of the Indians could be seen, the men threw snow over it, to spare the girls the unpleasantness of such a sight every time they went out from the cove. The bodies of all the Indians who had fallen near the island were also covered with snow. Those nearer the shore were carried off by the Iroquois in their retreat.

"I suppose, Peter," Harold said as they sat round the fire that evening, "you have been in quite as awkward scrapes as this before and have got out all right?"

"Why, this business aint nothing to that affair we had by Lake Champlain. That were as bad a business, when we was surrounded in that log hut, as ever I went through—and I've been through a good many. Pearson and me nigh got our har raised more nor once in that business of Pontiac's. He were a great chief and managed to get up the biggest confederation agin us that's ever been known. It were well for us that that business didn't begin a few years earlier when we was fighting the French; but you see, so long as we and they was at war the Indians hoped as we might pretty well exterminate each other, and then they intended to come in and finish off whoever got the best of it. Waal, the English they drove the French back and finally a treaty was made in Europe by which the French agreed to clear out.

"It was jest about this time as Pontiac worked upon the tribes to lay aside their own quarrels and jine the French in fighting agin us. He got the Senecas, and the Delawares, and the Shawnees, the Wyandots, and a lot of other tribes from the lakes and the hull country between the Niagara River and the Mississippi.

"Jack Pearson and me, we happened to be with the Miamis when the bloody belt which Pontiac were sending round as a signal for war arrived at the fort there. Jack and me knew the redskins pretty well, and saw by their manner as something unusual had happened. I went to the commandant of the fort and told him as much. He didn't think much of my news. The soldier chaps always despises the redskins till they see 'em come yelling along with their tomahawks, and then as often as not it's jest the other way. Howsumdever, he agreed at last to pay any amount of trade goods I might promise to the Miamis if the news turned out worth finding out. I discovered that a great palaver was to be held that evening at the chief's village, which was a mile away from the fort.

"I'd seen a good deal of the Miamis and had fought with 'em against the Shawnees, so I could do as much with 'em as most. Off Pearson and I goes to the chief; and I says to him, 'Look ye here, chief, I've good reasons to believe you've got a message from Pontiac and that it means trouble. Now don't you go and let yourself be led away by him. I've heard rumors that he's getting up a great confederation agin the English. But I tell you, chief, if all the redskins on this continent was to jine together, they couldn't do nothing agin the English. I don't say as you mightn't wipe out a number of little border forts, for no doubt you might; but what would come of it? England would send out as many men as there are leaves in the forest, who would scorch up the redskin nations as a fire on the prairie scorches up the grass. I tell yer, chief, no good can come on it. Don't build yer hopes on the French; they've acknowledged that they're beaten and are all going out of the country. It'd be best for you and your people to stick to the English. They can reward their friends handsomely, and ef you jine with Pontiac, sooner or later trouble and ruin will come upon you. Now I can promise you, in the name of the officer of the fort, a good English rifle for yerself and fifty guns for your braves and ten bales of blankets ef yer'll make a clean breast of it, and first tell us what deviltry Pontiac is up to and next jine us freely—or anyway hold aloof altogether from this conspiracy till yer see how things is going.'

"Waal, the chief he thought the matter over and said he'd do his best at the palaver that night, but till that was over, and he knew what the council decided on, he couldn't tell me what the message was. I was pretty well satisfied, for Prairie Dog were a great chief in his tribe, and I felt pretty sartin he'd git the council to go the way he wanted. I told him I'd be at the fort and that the governor would expect a message after the council was over.

"It was past midnight when the chief came with four of his braves. He told us that the tribe had received a bloody belt from Pontiac and a message that the Mingoes and Delawares, the Wyandots and Shawnees were going to dig up the hatchet against the whites, and calling upon him and his people to massacre the garrison of the fort and then march to jine Pontiac, who was about to fall upon Detroit and Fort Pitt. They were directed to send the belt on to the tribes on the Wabash, but they loved the English and were determined to take no part against them; so they delivered the belt to their friend the white commander, and hoped that he'd tell the great king in England that the Miamis were faithful to him. The governor highly applauded their conduct and said he'd send the news to the English governor at New York, and at once ordered the presents which I promised to be delivered to the chief for himself and his braves. When they'd gone he said:

"'You were right, Peter. This news is important indeed, and it's clear that a terrible storm's about to bust upon the frontier. Whether the Miamis will keep true is doubtful; but now I'm on my guard they'll find it difficult to take the fort. But the great thing is to carry the news of what's happened to Detroit, to put them on their guard. Will you and Pearson start at once?'

"In course we agreed, though it was clear that the job was a risksome one, for it wouldn't be no easy matter to journey through the woods with the hull redskin tribes on the war-path.

"The commander wanted me to carry the belt with me, but I said, 'I might jest as well carry my death warrant to the first redskins as I come across.' Major Gladwin, who commanded at Detroit, knew me, and I didn't need to carry any proof of my story. So, afore the Miamis had been gone half an hour, Jack and me took the trail for Detroit. We had got a canoe hid on the lake a few miles away, and we was soon on board. The next morning we seed a hull fleet of canoes coming down the lake. We might have made a race with 'em, but being fully manned the chances was as they'd have cut us off, and seeing that at present war had not been declared, we judged it best to seem as if we weren't afeared. So we paddles up to 'em and found as they were a lot of Wyandots whose hunting-grounds lay up by Lake Superior. In course I didn't ask no questions as to whar they was going, but jest mentioned as we was on our way down to Detroit. 'We're going that way, too,' the chief said, 'and 'll be glad to have our white brothers with us.' So we paddled along together until, about noon, they landed. Nothing was said to us as how we were prisoners, but we could see as how we was jest as much captives as ef we'd been tied with buckskin ropes.

"Jack and me talked it over and agreed as it was no manner o' use trying to make our escape, but that as long as they chose to treat us as guests we'd best seem perfectly contented and make no show of considering as they was on the war-path; although, seeing as they had no women or children with 'em, a baby could have known as they were up to no good.

"The next morning they started again at daybreak, and after paddling some hours landed and hid away their canoes and started on foot. Nothing was said to us, but we saw as we was expected to do as they did. We went on till we was within ten mile of Detroit and then we halted. I thought it were best to find out exactly how we stood, so Jack and I goes up to the chief and says that as we was near Detroit we would jest say good-by to him and tramp in.

"'Why should my white brothers hurry?' he said. 'It is not good for them to go on alone, for the woods are very full of Indians.' 'But,' I said, 'the hatchet's buried between the whites and the redskins, so there's no danger in the woods.' The chief waved his hand. 'My white brothers have joined the Wyandots, and they will tarry with them until they go into Detroit. There are many redskins there, and there will be a grand palaver. The Wyandots will be present.'

"Jack and me made no signs of being dissatisfied, but the position weren't a pleasant one, I can tell you. Here was the redskins a-clustering like bees around Detroit, ready to fall upon the garrison and massacre 'em, and we, who was the only men as knew of the danger, was prisoners among the redskins. It was sartin, too, that though they mightn't take our lives till they had attacked the garrison, they was only keeping us for the pleasure of torturing us quietly arterward. The situation was plain enough; the question was, what were to be done? There was about sixty of the varmints around us sitting by their fires and looking as ef they didn't even know as we was there, but we knew as sharp eyes was watching us and that, afore we'd gone five yards, the hull lot would be on our track.

"Jack and me didn't say much to each other, for we knew how closely we was watched and didn't want 'em to think as we was planning our escape, so after a few words we sat down by one of the fires till it got time to lie down for the night; but we had both been a-thinking. We saw, when we lay down, that the Injuns lay pretty well around us, while two on 'em, with their rifles ready to hand, sat down by a fire close by and threw on some logs, as if they intended to watch all night.

"It was a goodish-size clearing as they'd chose for a camping-ground, and we should have had to run some distance afore we got to the shelter of the trees. The moon too was up, and it were well-nigh as light as day, and anxious as we was to git away, we agreed that there were no chance of sliding off, but that it'd be better to wait till next day.

"When we woke our guns was gone. We complained to the chief, who said coldly that his young men would carry the guns and give 'em back to us when we got to Detroit. It were no use saying more, for he might at any moment have ordered us to be bound, and it were better to keep the use of our legs as long as we could.

"For two days we stayed there, not seeing the shadow of a chance of gitting away. Several redskin runners come in and spoke to the chief, and we got more and more anxious to be off. We was still allowed to walk about, provided we didn't go near the edge of the clearing; whenever we went that way two Injuns, who kept guard by turns over us, shouted to us to go no furder.

"The third morning, after a runner had come in, the chief gave the word for a move and we set out. We saw they wasn't taking the direct line to Detroit, although still going in that direction, and after two hours' marching through the woods we got down on to the Detroit River. Here was a big encampment, and some three or four hundred Shawnees and Delawares was gathered here. A chief come up to us as we entered the open. He gave an order to the Wyandots, and in a minute we was bound hand and foot, carried to a small wigwam, and chucked down inside like two logs of wood.

"After a little talk Jack and I agreed as after all we had a better chance of escaping now than when we was watched by a hull tribe, and we concluded that there weren't no time to be lost. The Wyandots had no doubt been brought up in readiness to strike the blow, and even if we'd known nothing about the belt we'd have been, sure that mischief was intended when these three bands of red varmints had gathered so close to the fort. It was sartin we couldn't do nothing till night, but we both strained our cords as much as possible to get 'em to stretch a bit and give us a better chance of slipping out of 'em. No one come near us for some time, and as we could hear the sound of voices we guessed that a great council was taking place, and we agreed at once to loosen the knots, so as to be in readiness for work, as like enough they'd put a sentry over us at night.

"It was a risky thing to try, for we might be disturbed at any minute. Still we thought it were our only chance, so Jack set to work with his teeth at my knots and in a quarter of an hour had loosened them; then I undone his. We unbound our thongs and then fastened 'em up again so that to the eye they looked jest the same as before but really with a jerk they'd fall off.

"I must teach you how to do that, Harold, some time; ye may find it of use. The knots was tied up as tightly as before, and it would have needed a close examination to see that we was not tied as tight as ever. Not a word was spoken and, we was as quiet as mice, for we could hear two redskins talking outside. You may guess we was pretty slick about it; and I don't know as ever I felt so thankful as when we laid ourselves down again, jest as we had been throwed, without the slit in the tent having opened and a red face peered in.

"A quarter of an hour later a redskin come in and looked at us. Seeing, as it seemed to him, as we hadn't moved, he went out again. Jest before nightfall two on 'em came in together, rolled us over, and looked at the knots; they found as these was all right; then one sat down jest in the door of the tent and the other took his place outside. We waited some hours.

"At last the fires burned low and the camp got quiet. We knew it was well-nigh hopeless to wait for 'em all to be asleep, for redskin natur' is a restless one, and especially when there's anything on hand they'll turn out two or three times in the night to smoke their pipes by the fires, and they'd be the more restless since, as we'd seen, there was only four or five wigwams and all would be sleeping on the ground. At last I thought the time were come and gave Jack a nudge, and we both sat up.

"It were a ticklish moment, young un, I can tell ye, for we knew that it were scarce possible to get off without the alarm being raised. Ef the wigwam had stood close to the edge of the forest it would have been compar'tively easy, for once among the trees we might have hoped to have outrun 'em, though the moon was so pesky bright; but unfortunately it was built not far from the river, and we should have to cross the hull clearing to gain the woods. The chances weren't good, I can tell you, but it was clear as we had to try 'em. We had purposely moved about pretty often, so that our movements would not attract the attention of the Injun now. It didn't take a minute to slip out of the cords, which, tight as they looked, really were not fastened at all, there being two loose double ends between our arms and our bodies. We could see the outside sentry through the open door, and we waited till he turned his back and looked out on the river. Then suddenly I gripped the redskin sitting at the entrance by the neck with both my hands, pretty tight, as you may reckon, and Jack ketched his knife from his belt and buried it in his body.