SCARRED EAGLE;
OR,
MOOROOINE, THE SPORTING FAWN.

A STORY OF LAKE AND SHORE.

BY ANDREW DEARBORN,

NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
98 WILLIAM STREET.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by
BEADLE AND COMPANY,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
WHITE VS. RED.

“Crack! crack!” rung out the reports of two rifles over the calm bosom of the lake, and two canoes, about fifty rods apart, seemed to leap from the water as they sped forward.

The course of both canoes was toward the western shores of the bay forming the north-western portion of Lake Erie. The one behind was manned by five Indian warriors, two of whom had just fired upon the boat ahead, which contained two persons—a white man and an Indian. The bullets, however, had no other effect than to cut the water at the distance of several yards to the right of the pursued men.

“S’pose you take rifle now, Scarred Eagle?” said the Indian to his white companion.

“No, not yit, Goodbrand,” said the other. “Thar’s little danger of the devils hittin’ us yit, but they want to make us lose time. Five oars ag’in’ two is gre’t odds, with a mile still afore us. Pull for y’ur life?”

The speaker was a man past forty years of age, with proportions denoting great strength and agility. Evidently, he had been through many rough scenes of border-life, for nearly every part of his body visible showed the marks of wounds. The most conspicuous of these was upon his face, one side of which was an entire scar. From this circumstance, he was called “Scarred Eagle” by the Indians, who had long since learned both to fear and respect him. But his face, though disfigured, was not wanting in expression. In fact, there was something of dignity in his bearing. No stranger would meet the clear gray eye, and note the bold, frank style of the man’s speech, without feeling that he was in the presence of one of nature’s noblemen, indeed. His dress was after the prevailing style of bordermen; and we note but one peculiarity. The hunting-frock was decorated on the breast by a design in bead-work representing a man in the act of silently bearing a white female prisoner from the midst of some sleeping Indians.

The Indian who assisted in propelling the canoe was not so tall as his white friend, though dressed nearly like him. He was a noble-looking savage, and had learned to speak the English tongue with considerable fluency.

A few words will explain the meaning of the situation in which we find these two men.

Both belonged to a body of scouts hovering near the besieged garrison at Detroit. They had, in the present instance, been scouting alone on the neck of land between Erie and St. Clair lakes. Being discovered by a party of Indians, they had retreated to the lake, and embarked in the canoe which had brought them from the opposite side of the bay already mentioned. But the Indians had found a canoe and started in pursuit before our friends were half a mile away. And at the moment we have introduced them, this distance had been lessened, so that hardly fifty rods now separated them.

Scarred Eagle and his Indian friend were not wanting in skill in the management of their craft. They knew the pursuers were fast gaining on them; yet they hoped to avoid a close struggle on the water, over which the gloom of night was fast settling. It was yet nearly a mile to the shore, however, and the shots which came every few seconds from their enemies, began to whizz alarmingly near.

“It’s time ter pay back, Goodbrand,” said Scarred Eagle, at length. “I hate ter begin, ’cos it’ll hinder our speed an’ give them bloody rascals an advantage.”

“S’pose you no do now, have to bimeby,” returned the Indian. “Mebbe kill some now; den not so many to fight if come up.”

“Thet’s a good plan enough, allowin’ I kin dew it, Goodbrand. But they’ll dodge down likely, jest as we do. Howsumever, I’ll try it. Ha! down with ye ag’in!”

The warning was not a moment too soon; for as they dodged down into the canoe-bottom, two or three reports rung out, and this time the bullets spun directly over them.

“Ay, Goodbrand; now keep ’er stidy’s ye kin, while I see what kin be done.”

Scarred Eagle, while thus speaking, dropped the paddle and snatched up his rifle, which was leveled and discharged with surprising quickness. A cry of pain answered the report of the weapon, and one of the pursuers fell back, never to use oar again! Goodbrand gave utterance to a shout of triumph.

“Ha, Scarred Eagle, dey find out who shoot now, mebbe,” he said, though without relaxing for a moment his exertions at the paddle.

“Thar’s one less, sartin,” replied Scarred Eagle, “but they’ve gained fast on us fur the last minit. We’ll keep frum close quarters as long as we kin.”

Before the pursuers had fully recovered from their confusion, the white marksman had reloaded his rifle. He kept a sharp watch upon those behind, while his Indian friend, with bared bosom and arms, was reeking with sweat, as he strained every muscle to his work.

Scarce thirty rods now separated the canoes, and the pursuers were, every one, using a paddle. Scarred Eagle again jerked his rifle to a poise; but, quick as was the movement, the Indians crouched down, leaving but little of their bodies exposed, though still managing to propel their canoe.

The white man, still keeping watch upon the enemy, snatched up a paddle and assisted his Indian friend. But he was not permitted to do so long. One of their foes rose suddenly and fired, the ball grazing Goodbrand’s shoulder as he stooped, and for the first time during the chase, four ringing war-whoops from those behind echoed over the lake-waters.

“No—no—not yit, Goodbrand!” cried Scarred Eagle, as he saw the Indian about to draw in his paddle. “Save y’ur shot till it comes closer quarters. ’Tain’t more’n a quarter of a mile furder to shore—we must leasten it all we kin.”

The white man spoke hurriedly, though no trepidation could have been noticed in his voice. He himself, taking advantage of the few seconds allowed, was working with giant strength at the paddle. But, as before, the Indians, upon noticing his work, determined to stop it and draw his fire. Two of them fired together this time, and one of the balls plowed a slight furrow across the top of Goodbrand’s head!

Hardly had the echoes of the reports ceased when Scarred Eagle sprung up and leveled his rifle. Its report was followed by jeering cries from the pursuers, who redoubled their exertions at the oars.

“That ’ar was wasted through your whirlin’ round an’ rockin’ the canoe so sudden, Goodbrand,” said Scarred Eagle, with chagrin in his tone. “Ah!” he immediately added, as his quick glance fell upon his friend’s head, “struck, war ye? Wal, it’s no use puttin’ things off longer. Take y’ur rifle.”

The other did so, suffering the canoe to float idly on the water, while his white companion was hurriedly reloading. But the latter had not time to finish the work. Not more than forty yards now separated the canoes, and the occupants of the hindmost had also ceased their labors, preparing for the struggle. Two of them suddenly rose, and three reports rung out simultaneously. The shot of Goodbrand told with good effect, for one of his enemies fell back into the lake. He himself was merely grazed; but his white friend, Scarred Eagle, uttered a deep groan and fell headlong beneath the waters of the lake!

The Indian, Goodbrand, could not repress an exclamation of sorrow. He was as deeply attached to Scarred Eagle as though the latter had been an own brother. But now, the career of his friend seemed ended.

The faithful fellow was almost on the point of throwing himself into the lake after his friend. But the exultant yells of his enemies roused in him that instinct of revenge so characteristic of his race. He had no chance to reload his rifle, for the other canoe was now but a few yards distant, and he knew three Miami warriors were ready to shoot him the moment he should rise.

Goodbrand himself was a Miami Indian. He had been converted years before, by the Moravian missionaries, and had only departed from their teachings in that he took up the hatchet of war, in behalf of the white race whom he loved. For this reason he was an outcast from his tribe, and had no hopes of other than a cruel death, in the event of falling alive into their hands.

As the canoe of the others came nearer, Goodbrand grasped knife and hatchet in either hand, fully determined not to be taken alive.

He had not been more than a few seconds thus prepared, when the appalling war-whoops of his enemies were suddenly hushed, and groans burst out, quickly followed by a splashing in the water. Quickly he raised his head and saw, not more than twenty feet away, the canoe of his pursuers bottom upward, while two of its late occupants were disappearing beneath the water! Another moment, and the form of Scarred Eagle rose from the water, surging toward him!

“Push up, Goodbrand, push up,” said Scarred Eagle, in a panting voice. And in less time than what we occupy in describing it, the Indian had assisted his friend into the canoe.

For a few moments the latter could hardly speak, and Goodbrand, comprehending the work he had done, merely uttered an exclamation of joy as his keen eyes watched for the reappearance of their foes.

“I knifed two on ’em the minit I riz up side o’ thar skiff, Goodbrand,” said Scarred Eagle, with a shiver in his voice. “Them won’t mislest us more, but t’other one’s hangin’ ter the canoe yender.”

Already had his Indian friend seen this, and seizing the paddle began to sweep up toward the drifting canoe. But suddenly, Scarred Eagle interposed.

“Let the poor devil go, Goodbrand,” he said. “He kain’t dew us any hurt, an’ it seems like a cruel advantage to take by sich as we.”

“Good!” assented the other. “It shall be as my brother says, ’cos he wise head as well as quick hand. He has saved us both. He is an Eagle that can fly under water, as well as over the land.”

“I seen ’twas best course, considerin’ the fix we war in,” replied the other as he began to wring the water from his clothes. “It come to me all of a sudden like. Ah—thar’s the cretur’ in sight,” he added, as the head and shoulders of the remaining enemy appeared on the opposite side of the receding canoe.

“It is Nookechin—one of my cousins,” exclaimed Goodbrand in surprise. “I’m glad no to kill him, though kill me, mebbe.”

“An’ I’m glad tu hear ye say it, Goodbrand,” answered Scarred Eagle. “It shows you’ve a Christian heart, an’ that the Moravians hevn’t labored on ye in vain.”

“Workechin likes not to war upon his own race, and only does so when necessary to defend his white friends,” replied the other, assuming for the moment his Indian name. “He believes in the white God and white ways; and wishes his own tribe would believe likewise. They would be more happy then. Nookechin,” he added, elevating his voice, and using his native tongue, “you see we spare your life. I hope never to have occasion to meet you nor any other of my kin or tribe in battle, for I would not harm them. Does Nookechin hear?”

“It is well,” answered the other. “I shall not forget this kindness from my cousin. I will never fight against him till I do him as good a turn.” And, as if fully confident of the good intentions of the others, he righted the canoe and sprung into it. Then, grasping a paddle which floated near, he made a gesture of good-will toward his late enemies, and began to push rapidly toward the northern shore.

“What now, Scarred Eagle?” asked Goodbrand, as he peered toward the western shore now barely discernible through the gloom. “Mebbe our friends hear us fight—mebbe Injuns hear too.”

“Y’ur right,” said the other. “Lay ’er off sou’-west a trifle an’ we’ll try ter steal ashore under kiver of the darkness.”

Goodbrand obeyed, taking a course that would land them some distance below the point from which they had embarked. Though prudent himself, he instinctively deferred to the judgment of his white friend. And there were but few along the border who did not place more confidence in the opinions of Scarred Eagle than in their own.

The latter, while his friend pushed forward the canoe, reloaded his trusty rifle, which he had left in the canoe with his powder-horn, at the time he feigned death. This accomplished, he directed his gaze toward the shore.

“Easy, Goodbrand, easy,” he whispered, at length. “It’s gittin’ dark, but not fast enough for our purpose onless we move slower. That’s right—it’s better.”

His Indian friend had ceased to paddle, and the canoe floated noiselessly on the water. For a quarter of an hour neither of them spoke except in low whispers. About two hundred yards away loomed up the great forest, stretching away from the shore. Not a sound came from its depths yet they knew lurkers might lie along shore, thirsting for their blood.

“It’s jest possible that we mout land safe, Goodbrand; but ’twon’t dew to trust the appearance of things hereaway,” remarked Scarred Eagle. “Some o’ the chaps orter be expectin’ us, even ef they hain’t heard our rifles, which it is posserble they hain’t.”

“S’pose you give signal,” said the Indian.

“We’ll steal up a little closer fust. Thar’s hardly an outline of the shore to be seen now.”

Goodbrand began to push the canoe forward. Suddenly a single peculiar note came from the forest.

“About with it, quick!” whispered Scarred Eagle. “It’s Ben Mace’s signal, an’ warns of danger.”

As he spoke he seized another paddle, and in a moment the canoe was gliding back from shore. Then came three or four rifle-reports, and the bullets whistled uncomfortably near.

“Now, Goodbrand, we’ve got ter calkerlate clus,” remarked Scarred Eagle, as soon as they were out of danger. “We’ve got ter land somewhar. Whether furder up or down’s the question. We’ll be watched for, cluser’n Saul watched for David, an’ must use all the wits Proverdence has gin us.”

“Scarred Eagle speaks well,” replied the Indian. “S’pose we go up. The Miami warriors are cunning. They cum from fort-way an’ will watch above here ’cos they’ve heerd us fight. Den we better go, hurry down.”

“Ye’ve come to the marrer of the thing, Goodbrand, an’ that’s what I like,” responded the other, after a moment’s thought. “Now, won’t our enemies not reelly expict we’ll take the very course you speak of? It strikes me they will. They’ll reason the thing ’bout ’s you, who ar’ ecquainted with their wiles.”

“I see—yis,” said Goodbrand, to whom this species of strategy was apparently new. “Den, if say go up, we go.”

“We must keep well out an’ dip light,” remarked Scarred Eagle, as he seized a paddle. “It’s sartin Mace is ’round, an’ the rest orter be—some on ’em. All on ’em wouldn’t have stayed at the bivo’ac. But land we must; otherwise this night-wind ’ll benumb every narve in my body.”

For half an hour they continued to pull northward. As the darkness deepened, they drew gradually nearer shore, and soon their canoe touched a jut of land.

At this moment, a succession of sounds, muffled by distance and intervening forests, came to their ears. Any but the experienced ears of a scout, would have failed to understand the significance of these sounds. But our friends knew they were the echoes of rifle-reports.

“Ay, Goodbrand,” said Scarred Eagle, in a whisper, as both glanced around through the gloom. “The rest o’ the chaps ar’ in trouble, an’ we’re in fur it. Come!”

Both stepped noiselessly ashore, drew their canoe under the densely-wooded bank, and then began to steal forward through the gloom.

CHAPTER II.
MOOROOINE.

About an hour previous to the events last described, a number of rangers were grouped around a fire, near the termination of a deep forest gorge. A small stream ran through the gorge, finding an outlet at the shores of the lake, about two miles away. At their backs rose an almost perpendicular cliff a hundred feet in hight, covered with dense foliage. The banks of the gorge, opposite, were comparatively low, and supported huge trees, whose branches, shooting far out, rendered the place gloomy even at midday.

A better hiding-place, or bivouac, for a posse of rangers, could not well have been chosen. An enemy might pass within thirty yards of the place, and be none the wiser, so far as sight or hearing is concerned. On the contrary, those within, looking outward from comparative darkness, could quickly discover the presence of interlopers, and withstand attack or make a good retreat, as policy might require.

The rangers had not been at this bivouac long. In groups of two, they had been watching the forest in different directions. They had returned, according to previous arrangement, and were now partaking heartily of rich venison-stew broiled on the bed of coals in their midst. They had assured themselves that no Indians were lurking near, before kindling the fire; yet the smoke from the hard, dry wood, became invisible ere it reached the top of the interlaced branches above them.

Little need be said in description of these men. They were the main body of scouts mentioned in the preceding chapter, and Scarred Eagle was their acknowledged leader. They were all hardy-looking fellows, well-armed, and of various ages, of uncouth appearance, rough in speech, but with nerves of steel; ready to face danger at any moment, and not loth to indulge in the pastime of a wrestling-match, or knock-down among themselves, in the absence of more exciting events.

“Seems ter me Brom, as yer call ’im, orter showed hisself afore now ef ’e ain’t got took,” remarked one of them, a tall, coarse-looking fellow in homespun.

“I dun know, Hulet,” replied one of his companions, clearing his throat. “It’s a dangerous job he ondertook—gittin’ to the fort when it’s compissed by so many Injuns. But ’e ain’t had time. A day for twenty miles’ travel, an’ all on’t to be stole over, ain’t too long, I reckon.”

“I know it’s dangerous. But he’s be’n gone more’n a day. He started three hours afore this time yisterday.”

“An’ s’posin’ ’e did?” broke in another, of Celtic origin. “Is dthat a sign he’s tuk? How dthe deuce are you or me to know dthe crooks an’ turns he’s had to make? Uv wan thing I’m certain, Brum w’u’dn’t cair for y’ur advice, nor woon’t thank yees for y’ur unaisiness. So ye needn’t be ov dthe first to wurry.”

Hulet deigned no answer to the Irishman, but resumed conversation with the ranger first addressed.

“Then, you’re out on the distance tew,” he said. “It’s sca’ce ten miles to the fort.”

“It ain’t, eh?” answered the one called Revel, who stopped with a piece of venison half-way to his mouth, and eyed the questioner. “Sca’ce ten mile! Who don’t know that?”

“You said, twenty.”

One or two of the group indulged in sneering chuckles.

“I say so yit,” returned Revel. “Brom’s got to pass over the ground twice afore he gits back here, ain’t ’e?”

“Yees needn’t ax dthat, Will,” said the Irishman. “Our laider has swall’ed too much venison entoirely, an’ it’s druv all dthe sinse he had in his head down to his belly. Dthe thruth, as sure’s me father wur a docthur!”

The laugh which went round at Hulet’s expense, was of course not over-relished by the latter.

“That ar’ ye call wit—Irish wit, I s’pose,” returned Hulet unable to conceal anger. “But I don’ know ’bout the ‘doctor.’ Who ever heerd of a durned Irishman bein’ a doctor.”

“Who is it?” queried the Irishman, fiercely. “I’ll take a joke but not an insoolt to me name, ye domd gossoon. Me father was a docthur, though, an’ I, Tim Devine, am able to docthur y’ur face, for the slandhur of y’ur tongue!” He aimed a blow at Hulet, as he spoke, which the latter parried.

“Hold on—this ’ere ain’t a-goin’ to do, now,” said Revel, rushing between them. “This ain’t the time for a row. Put it off. We’ve got to start pretty soon for the lake-shore. Thar may be Injuns skulking around, an’ we ain’t goin’ ter be sech headlong fools as to direct ’em here.”

Tim stood back. In the absence of Scarred Eagle, Revel was a sort of leader, and all liked him. But Tim shot fierce glances at Hulet, who smiled tauntingly.

“Niver mind, aneconde,” said Tim. “We’ll hove dthis out some time, an’ though y’ur size is something in y’ur favor, I’ll make ye respict me name if not swalle y’ur words. See if I don’t now, ye ill-mannered baist!”

“Hold up, men,” interrupted Revel. “Don’t run it into a quarrel. That’s foolish.”

“I don’t want ’er quarrel, nor have no diffikilty,” said Hulet. “But he begun it. I own I made a mistake ’bout the distance we was talkin’ of, ’cos I didn’t at fust think.”

“Co-cor-course; Hulet knew better ef he’d had time ter th-th-think. He don’t allus, ye know, bo-bo-boyes. T’other day he mis-mis-mistook an Injun fur a black b-b-bear, jest ’cos he didn’t hev time ter th-th-think!”

The stuttering speaker was a tall, spare man, with a whimsical face, eyes keen as a hawk’s and almost as small. His sally was greeted by a round of subdued laughter, from all except Hulet, whose face showed more signs of anger than had been evinced during his renconter with the Irishman.

Hulet was not personally well liked by his companions. He had been with them but a few days. He pretended to hail from one of the border settlements, and claimed to be a scout of much experience. One or two of the rangers held him in positive distrust. He seemed used to the forest; yet at times he made strange blunders for a scout. The one referred to by the stutterer actually happened, two days previously, while they were hovering in the rear of a Huron party.

“Wal, laugh, ef it suits ye!” said Revel, fiercely. “When it comes my turn, I’ll let some on ye know!”

“What’s that ye say?” spoke Revel, turning sharply upon him. He thought he detected something of the nature of a threat in the other’s tone.

“You yerself wouldn’t want a mistake flung inter y’ur face every time any thing comes up!” said Hulet. “But let it pass. A chap that stutters is allus gittin’ off sunthin’ to make a laugh,” and he tried to look good-naturedly toward the stutterer, Joe Hill.

“Ex-ex-exactly!” rejoined the latter worthy. “My tongue kine-kine-kinder hitches when I talk, an’ that’s wha-wha-whar I git time ter th-th-think whuther an objict’s a b’ar or an In-In-Injun.”

None seemed disposed to interrupt Joe. They enjoyed the badinage too well. The Irishman especially fatted at the idea of bringing Hulet into contempt, and encouraged Joe to keep it up. But Hulet disarmed the latter by joining slightly in the laugh, and then addressing Will Revel:

“I don’t understand why Brown should resk himself to visit the fort, now,” he said. “The major won’t care ter make a sally afore the reinforcements come.”

“Old Rhodan knows what he sent ’em for,” answered Revel. “That’s all I kin tell ye.”

“Ye mean him that’s called Scarred Eagle. He an’ Brown seem to think oncommon of each other. Relashuns, ain’t they?”

“Not by blood; though father and son couldn’t think more of each other than they. Rhodan saved ’im, when he war a striplin’, from the Hurons. They’ve stuck to one another ever sence, as it’s nat’ral they should.”

“In course. Strikes me that Scarred Eagle himself orter be among us, ef he’s comin’ to-night. Mebbe he won’t. It’s goin’ to be dark’s a pocket.”

The Irishman here nudged Joe Hill.

“Yis; dar-dark-darker’n the outside of a black b-b-ba’r,” assented Joe, giving his face a comical twist.

“It’s comin’ on fast, too,” said Revel. “We must betake ourselves to the lake-shore and watch for Scarred Eagle. Ef he don’t come by dark we kin come back an’ wait.”

“Must be Ben Mace’ll come,” said another. “He hadn’t so fur to go.”

“That’s why I feel a trifle oneasy ’bout him, Lew,” answered Revel. “I’ll own it. He’s as good a scout as is in the kentry, only he’s so mad at sight of an Injun. He runs too much resk for the sake of revenge.”

“Why not stay whar we be?” said Hulet. “I don’t b’l’eve Scarred Eagle ’ll git back frum the neck to-night. Thar’s no Injuns in the neighborhood, an’ ef I kin read right it’ll be so dark in an hour that none on us could find our way back.”

“How mooch for y’ur advoice, Misthur Hugelet?” said Tim, quickly. “You’re afeard of runnin’ y’ur head ag’in’ a tree or bear, whuch? Dthe id’a of a scout, a syees purtind to be, not bein’ able to git through the woods for darkness! Pish!”

“You’ll run y’ur head ag’in’ sunthin’ bimeby, Mister Brogue,” said Hulet, “that’ll make ye—”

“Oh, git out!” interrupted Revel, again. “Let this foolin’ come to an end. Some o’ them that’s away may come or not, but we’ll watch for ’em anyhow. I think Rhodan ’ll be back. The darkness won’t stop him.”

“He’d find his way through te-teto-te-tle—durn it—tetotal darkness blindfolded,” added Joe, spitefully.

“Good, Joe,” said Revel, with a laugh. “Now, boys—ah, what’s that?”

He had seen a dusky figure pass by the outlet of the gorge. Before he spoke, however, Joe Hill had sprung off with the agility of a cat, and disappeared in the bushes hard by. The rest grasped their rifles and followed. But they had hardly reached the outlet of the ravine when Joe reappeared from a side-path, leading an Indian girl, who evidently had not tried hard to get away.

“Thar!” he ejaculated, “I’ve g-got ’er, though what she wa-wan—blast it!—wants hyur’s more’n I kin tell. Cu-curi’s part on’t is, she did-didn’t tr-r-r-try ter git away.”

“Hurry out an’ look around, some of you,” said Will Revel, quickly. “Mebbe thar’s others near.”

“None but me,” said the captive, in fair English.

All, except Hulet, gazed upon her curiously. The girl was an Indian beauty, apparently about eighteen years of age. She was above the medium hight, and the color of her skin showed that white blood ran in her veins. She wore beautiful moccasins upon her feet, and was dressed tastefully. Her hair was glossy, black and fine, falling around her shoulders in masses, though kept back from her forehead by a glittering silver band. At her back was a bow and quiver of arrows; while a light hatchet and a knife were pendent from either side of her waist. She confronted the rangers without showing a sign of fear, though evidently embarrassed.

“Why’ve ye come here, Injun girl?” asked Revel. “If it’s to do us harm, you’re very foolish.”

“No come for that,” she said, earnestly.

“How’d ye know we war here?”

“Didn’t know. Looked sharp—den find you. Come for do good. Injuns that way,” pointing toward the lake. “You git scalps took if not careful.”

“Hear dthat now!” muttered the Irishman.

“Why’d ye come to warn us?” asked Revel. “Ain’t ye afraid we’ll harm ye?”

“Not much,” answered the Indian girl, dropping her eyes. “If did, would not come. Moorooine loves the white race. Some bad, some good—so everywhere. But Moorooine loves them and warns them. Some white herself, too.”

Will Revel started in surprise as he heard the girl’s name. Two more of the group also showed surprise and looked with new interest upon her.

“Who sent you here?” asked Revel.

“No one,” replied the Indian girl. “I followed some warriors softly that went on trail. They found where two men went off in canoe. Some watch for them to come back; others search forest.”

“Then Scarred Eagle ’ll be in danger,” said Revel, turning to his comrades. “Thar’s no time to lose. I’ve reason to b’l’eve this girl’s true to us. How many ar’ along the lake-shore?” he added, turning to Moorooine again.

“Me talk more with you, alone,” she said, avoiding the bevy of eyes fixed upon her. Revel followed her a short distance aside.

“There is so much warriors twice,” she said, in answer to his last question, holding up both hands with the fingers outspread. “They chased white man, but white man got away.”

“Did you see the white man?”

“Yes. Warriors call ’im Evil Eye.”

“Ah—Ben Mace!” exclaimed Revel. “Did he run this way?”

“Goin’ to; but had to hide. Den warriors missed ’im an’ leave behind. Look out for white friends on lake. Be careful, an’ look out for yourselves, too. Git took if don’t. Moorooine knows the forest an’ will help you. Mus’ go now. Bimeby you come too.”

“One minit,” said Will Revel. “You come here for more’n you say, Moorooine. I’ve heerd y’ur name afore. Thar’s a young hunter who ginrully goes with the Scarred Eagle. Have ye seen him called the White Fox, up to’ards the fort?” This was the name by which Brom Vail was known among the Indians.

The Indian maiden glanced curiously into the ranger’s face, and the rich blood mounted to her cheeks and brow.

“Yes; seen ’im,” she answered, dropping her eyes. “He not here, go in canoe with friend, s’pose. Me watch for his coming an’ you watch too. Be careful. Mebbe all of us cheat warriors an’ save him an’ friend.”

“We’ll do our best, sartin,” said Will. “But Moorooine is at fault. White Fox started for the fort yisterday, an’ we’re lookin’ for ’im back.”

The girl’s manner changed at once. A look of deep apprehension appeared in her face.

“White Fox got to fort in night an’ started back early in morning,” she said. “Me see ’im softly (secretly) outside the fort. Much ’fraid Injuns got ’im! Too bad, very!”

Her looks betrayed intense anxiety. And Revel’s was equally great. He saw all at a glance. As intimated, he had heard of the Miami girl, Moorooine, before. The strongest attachment had sprung up between her and Brom Vail. They had met a few months before, when Brom, with his foster-father and a man of the name of Thorpe, were seeking for information affecting the peace of the latter’s mind. Moorooine had afforded the party successful aid, and once saved their lives at the risk of her own.

“Mus’ go!” she said, suddenly. “Mus’ save White Fox if can, an’ rest too.”

“We’ll be on hand, brave girl,” said Will. “If we kin git with Scarred Eagle an’ Goodbrand we’ll find whar Brom is, or die for’t. D’ye s’pose ye could find the Evil Eye?”

“Me try to, an’ den git him help. Ha!” she exclaimed, as her keen glance shot through the bushes toward the rest of the company. “Who that man?”

Will followed her glance, which rested upon the person of Hulet. For the first time he noticed the latter had kept as much as possible in the background when the Indian girl came. Hulet had advanced a little nearer to the rest, who had apparently noticed his conduct.

“That?” said Revel. “He’s a scout like the rest of us. Does Moorooine know ’im?”

“Most do,” she answered, in a whisper, keeping her eyes toward him. “You know ’im long?”

“Only a few days. Why do you ask?”

“Sure now,” she whispered. “Have seen ’im ’round fort with Injuns. Watch ’im sharp. He’s no good white man. He carries two tongues an’ will betray you an’ me too if can.”

“What did they call ’im?” inquired Revel, excitedly.

“Sly Hate. Take care him. Mus’ go. You know cry of night-hawk? One, tell you ‘look out;’ two will mean, ‘come.’” The girl turned and disappeared through the bushes toward the lake.

Will stood a few moments in deep surprise. “Sly Hate,” he muttered. “The one that was cashiered for cowardice a year ago at Montreal, and then j’ined the Injuns. An’ he’s here ter lead us into a trap. By the great livin’, he shain’t play the game no further!”

He stalked through the bushes and approached the group of rangers. He kept his head down so that Hulet might not suspect his designs till the last moment. But when he came near the men, he raised his eyes and saw that Hulet was not present. The rest were watching his own strange approach curiously.

“Phat’s come across yees?” exclaimed the Irishman.

“Did thet Injun gal—”

“Whar’s Hulet?” interrupted Revel, sternly. All glanced around, and several spoke at once.

“Why ’e was here not a minit ago, ’cos—”

Further speech was interrupted. A rifle cracked not far away, and one of the group, grasping his breast, fell to the ground! The report was succeeded by a defiant shout from Hulet, who had disappeared in the direction of the lake.

“It’s all over with me, boys,” gasped the stricken man. “Go on—all of you, an’ take the traitor, and avenge my death.”

CHAPTER III.
TWO LESS.

Exclamations of horror burst from the rangers, and the next moment all were rapidly plunging through the bushes after Hulet. For the time being no thought, no desire, was in their minds other than to avenge the death of their comrade, Lew Burns.

In a few moments they cleared the dense bushes surrounding their bivouac and caught a glimpse of the traitor. He was some forty yards away, running rapidly. Three rifles spoke in quick succession, but the rascal kept on, unscathed. The three who had fired, stopped to reload, while Will Revel and Dan Hicks kept on.

To strike a man running at full speed through a densely-wooded forest, bounding aside and deviating on the course every moment, is no easy task, and this the rangers well knew.

“Keep y’ur shot, Dan!” cried Will Revel to the one running at his side. “Thar’ll be a better chance to strike ’im soon.”

The other comprehended him. Not sixty rods straight ahead was a comparatively open space where the fugitive’s body would be more exposed. Hulet would either have to cross this or turn abruptly aside before reaching it. And the latter alternative would give his pursuers a chance to gain upon him rapidly.

Something more than a desire for revenge was now in the minds of the pursuers, and, if possible, incited them to greater speed. They remembered that Hulet’s escape would enhance the dangers of old Rhodan and Goodbrand, and might also result fatally to the noble Indian girl who had taken such pains to seek them out and warn them.

Like hounds Will Revel and his comrade sprung on, keeping their gaze upon the runaway, though not apparently gaining a yard upon him. The latter did not seem to notice the open space which he was rapidly approaching till he was quite near it. Then, as if suddenly aware of his increased danger, he whirled and struck toward the left.

“Now!” shouted Will Revel. “You try ’im, Dan, an’ I’ll keep on.”

His plan was to reserve his own shot to the last, hoping if Dan failed, to make it more effectual by taking advantage of Hulet’s momentary confusion.

But the latter was neither hit nor diverted a moment by the bullet of Dan Hicks, which must have whizzed very close to his head. He was not more than twenty yards distant when Revel jerked his rifle to a level and fired. Notwithstanding the gloom which began rapidly to deepen, Revel saw that he had struck the traitor near the shoulder, though Hulet still ran on.

“Take ’eer o’ that!” shouted the exasperated ranger to his friend, as he slung his rifle toward him. “By the great Moses, that hellion shain’t give us all the slip!”

Without pausing for a second he drew a little ax from his girdle and bounded on with maddened energy. He knew the traitor would not long elude him. As if conscious of this, Hulet also threw down his rifle and pealed out two or three ringing shouts of distress. Will Revel well knew that the commotion might bring some of the lurking Indians to the spot. But he also knew that his companions were hurrying up. Conscious that he was gaining on the wretch, he determined to bring him down at all hazards.

Suddenly he heard some one bounding toward him and his prey from an opposite direction. Not doubting that it was an Indian, he drew back his arm to hurl the ax at Hulet, now about a dozen yards away. But before he could throw the weapon, he heard the twang of a bow, the whiz of an arrow, and noticed that Hulet was struck in the arm. As quick as thought the ax sped from his hand. But, as though some evil genius protected Hulet, he suddenly sprung aside and the ax missed him.

“Hold—what’s this?” cried a voice, suddenly.

“It’s a traitor—Sime Hulet—head him off, Mace, quick!” shouted Will, who had recognized the speaker.

The next moment there was a series of shouts and bounds, and Will saw the traitor fall to the earth before the sweep of Mace’s rifle. Then the cry of a night-hawk, distinct and clear, rung through the forest.

“Back, all on ye, back!” said Mace, as he met Revel and saw his companions rushing up. “Thar’s nigh twenty uv the cussed p’isons, an’ half on ’em ar’ comin’ this way. Back, an’ get a better spot to meet ’em in!”

As he spoke they all heard the bounds of the Indians close by. Aside from this, Revel remembered the signal of Moorooine. The spot they were in was quite open, being the upper part of the cleared space which Hulet had sought to avoid. The gloom here was not yet so deep but that their forms would be well outlined, and present fair marks to the Indians hurrying up. Without loss of time the rangers darted back and obtained cover.

Every weapon was soon reloaded. Fully alive to the occasion, the men stationed themselves a little distance apart and listened for their foes. Not a word was spoken, and even their very breaths were hushed.

Ten minutes thus passed. It was equally still beyond the open space. But suddenly a movement was heard a few rods away, and the gaze of the men was strained toward the place whence it appeared to come. The fast-approaching darkness however, began to render objects on the open space very indistinct.

Will Revel glided noiselessly to the side of Mace.

“Take ’eer!” cautioned the latter. “We’re in a hornet’s nest jes’ now. How’d ye find out ’bout thet cussed Hulet?”

Will rapidly explained.

“Hah! Then ’twar the Injun gal thet jest gave the signal!”

“She was goin’ to find you,” said Will. “But I s’pose she wanted to make sure that hellion was out o’ the way fust.”

“Nat’ral enough. He’d bring her into diffikilty, of course. But she k’n rest easy consarnin’ him. Blast ’im, I wish we could ’a’ got ’im inter our paws alive.”

“Where were you, Mace?”

“Look out! Hark! Thar—it’s all still ag’in. Durn ’em, they ain’t ’n no hurry to move. Whar was I? Up nigh the Miami village when they gi’n me chase. It happened well, for I not only got away, but seen a scrimmage on the lake—or heerd it.”

“Who?”

“Scarred Eagle an’ Goodbrand war chased from the neck. They hed a rig’lar devil’s tussle with some Injuns thet follered ’em in a canoe. I warned ’em off, but it cost me a world of dodgin’. Ha, now thar’s a move yender, fur sartin!”

Their whispers instantly ceased, and they listened intently. Any one unused to such scenes would not have believed a leaf had stirred.

But these men had no doubt that a number of their foes were moving so as to get in their rear. Revel saw Mace suddenly elevate his rifle, and then lower it with a muttered curse. At the same time a crackling noise came from the opposite side of the opening.

“We must sarcumvent ’em in that game,” said Mace.

“How? fall back?”

“No—go forrard. No doubt half a dozen on ’em’s gone down the ground, an’ no knowin’ how many ar’ d’rectly oppersite. We must pass ter the left o’ these, an’ go on towarts the lake-shore. Ef Rhodan hez got landed, he an’ Goodbrand ’ll need help. We must try ter git ’em with us.”

“Very well. Shall I speak to the others?”

“Yis. No—hold on. I’ll dew that myself, an’ you go on—one on ’em’s above ye now. I’ll try ter cross here, shortly. You kin try the same furder up.”

“You’ll git into greater danger by that,” said Revel. “Them that ar’ watchin’ from where it’s darker ’ll see ye the better.”

“’Tain’t so much resk as ter lay still here when a number o’ the skunks are creepin’ up ahind us. Ef they come up in time we’ll be atween tew fires, an’ then thar wouldn’t be half a chance left. Move on.”

Convinced that his companion was right, Revel obeyed. The darkness was now so great that he could see scarce half a rifle’s length around him. A few yards away he found another of the rangers, and hurriedly apprising him of Mace’s plans, the two stole forward.

All the senses of the men were now literally strained. Not only had they to avoid making any noise which might disclose their position to lurking foes, but also to hold themselves ready for any sudden encounter. At any moment they might meet an enemy as agile, watchful and skilled in forest warfare as themselves. And yet, instead of a feeling of dread, one of wild, intense excitement thrilled their veins.

They had crept forward but a rod or two when they detected similar movements on their right. Will Revel knew that the Indians were moving up to intercept them, and that Mace was perhaps at that moment gliding across the open space.

He whispered a moment to his companion. The latter agreed to move on alone. Revel himself wished to strike across the open space at this point.

He waited some moments, listening to the almost noiseless advance of his fellow-rangers. Then he turned and was about to glide across the open space, when a voice spoke close to his ear. He knew it, and turned to see the Indian girl close beside him.

“Where go now?” she whispered.

“Over yonder,” replied Revel. “Some of the warriors have gone below here, an’ll soon be up ahind us.”

“Be much careful,” she admonished. “More warriors comin’ from lake.”

“Ar’ ye sure?”

“Yes—sure. Has Evil Eye any news?”

“No,” replied Will. “Seek Rhodan and Goodbrand. If we live, the White Fox shall be found.”

At that instant a bright sheet of flame came from the opposite side of the space, and the report of a rifle followed. But before its echoes had ceased, a rifle just below them answered, and an Indian’s death-groan was distinctly heard.

The Indian girl disappeared from Revel’s side as noiseless as a shadow. Holding his rifle ready, he bent forward on foot and knee, his gaze toward the spot where the Indian had fallen. He knew it was Mace who had shot the warrior, and he resolved to wait till the former should move.

The forest was now as still as though no living being lurked in its depths. But presently he heard evidence that told him his companions below were coming toward him.

He rose cautiously, and began to move on. He believed Mace had changed his plan. Perhaps some of their foes were already gliding directly up on their rear. Suddenly he paused. Some of the rest were very near him.

“Mace?” he whispered.

“He’s behind,” whispered a voice belonging to another of the rangers. “Four or five ar’ but a leetle ways ahind us.”

“There’s more ahead than we thought, tew. But there’s no chance to tell the rest, and too late to go back. Come on!”

At this moment a sudden commotion began in the bushes not ten yards away. Not a cry was heard. The combatants were too intent on the struggle.

The two rangers leaped forward. In a second they could discern two dark figures clinched and struggling for the mastery. Before they themselves could interpose, a groan burst out, and one of the combatants dropped.

“Thar—durn yer!” muttered the voice of the triumphant ranger; but even as the unguarded words came from his lips, a hatchet in the hands of an Indian behind crashed through his brain, and he fell against Revel.

The latter nearly fell himself, but recovering, was in time to ward off a knife-blow, and to close with a powerful savage. As he did so, two rifle-reports rung out near by, and he heard bold, bounding steps across the open space to his right.

He noted these circumstances, even at that fearful moment; and then he was struggling fiercely with his enemy.

The savage had him at a disadvantage; but Revel happened, at the outset, to grasp the Indian’s long hair, and pulled his head back. With his left hand he grasped him around the waist, and tried to throw him. The Indian’s left hand was nearly useless, but his right held a knife, which began to make havoc upon Revel’s shoulder, despite the latter’s endeavor to hold the Indian’s arm.

Suddenly the struggle brought Revel’s adversary against a prostrate tree-trunk over which he fell, dragging the ranger upon him. The accident enabled Will to draw his own knife, and the next instant it was buried in the Indian’s breast!

Springing up, he saw that the ranger who had followed him had been similarly engaged. The latter was underneath a savage, and struggling desperately to avoid the knife-thrusts aimed at his breast. Revel sprung to his assistance. But a dark form was before him—that of Mace. The latter dealt the Indian a blow, and with a groan he rolled aside.

“Down, quick!” said Mace; and with the words, he dropped to the ground, jerking Will down beside him. Two or three reports rung out, and the bullets whistled over them. The three men hastily crept a few yards aside.

“Where’s the rest?” whispered Will.

“A little below us, workin’ their way up,” said Mace. “They’ll git tired o’ this, cuss ’em.”

“Poor Hank!” said Dan Hicks. “That makes two.”

“They’re gittin’ paid!” said Mace, grimly. “Hish!”

Footsteps were distinguished coming from below. Mace was satisfied whose they were. In the course of three minutes, the other rangers came up. Meantime, nothing to indicate any new position of the Indians had been heard.

A hurried consultation was held by the men. Mace knew that not less than a dozen savages were around them yet. But the commotion had diverted those on the watch for Rhodan; so it was naturally supposed the latter and his Indian friend had succeeded in landing, and were perhaps, not far off. Yet to venture on signal-notes would apprise the savages of their exact position.

“Let each one hold his knife ready,” said Mace. “We’ll separate a little an’ keep on this course. It’s no wuss’n to stay here till they steal upon us. Mebbe we’ll run across Rhodan. Come.”

CHAPTER IV.
THE HUMAN BIRD.

Of course the rangers had conversed in whispers, which could not have been heard three yards away. And not for a second had they ceased to watch and listen with strained senses.

But they did not start. Another rifle spoke from the opposite side of the open space, the bullet passing near them. And during the succeeding moment or two, they detected movements at their left. For a short time longer they remained motionless and silent.

“These on our left ar’ goin’ up,” said Mace. “Ten to one most o’ the skunks ar’ above us now. I’m goin’ ter make stret across the openin’.”

Joe Hill undertook to whisper something; but the other had no time to hear him, being already creeping after Mace. Joe suppressed a wrathy exclamation and followed.

The nature of the ground was such that a practiced scout could steal over it without much danger of being heard. The greatest danger was being seen. Each went on hand and knee, moving slowly. They were nearly across, when Mace suddenly stopped and hugged close to the ground. Those behind followed suit.

They were not more than ten yards from the edge of the woods beyond, which was marked by deeper darkness. What had Mace discovered?

It was a silent query soon answered. A figure was moving forward, intent on crossing to the side they had just left. Evidently the author of the last shot.

The Indian came on slowly. He was not over-cautious, for his body was but half bent. Its dim outlines barely perceptible through the deep gloom, seemed twice the natural size. He probably had not, as yet, the faintest suspicion that enemies were so near him.

He was nearly past the motionless rangers, when suddenly he stopped. Was it instinct or his keen vision-sense that caused him to glance around?

Not the latter, evidently, for soon he moved on.

He had taken no more than three steps, when he again stopped and peered aside. He was now but little more than a yard from the side of Joe Hill. He gazed around for a moment, and then bent lower down. He meant to know if the almost imperceptible stir made by Joe Hill was only fancy.

The Indian was speedily undeceived. Two long arms suddenly shot up, clasping his neck and throat like a vice. No power to cry out; nor to struggle. Two forms rose quickly, near Joe, and prevented this. The knife of one was sent to the Indian’s heart. Half a minute later, Hill released his grasp, and was creeping forward after his companions.

They were shortly within the edge of the woods. At that moment three rifles spoke opposite the open space and above them. As though frightened by the commotion, two distinct cries of a night-hawk followed close upon the echoes of the reports.

“I was right!” whispered Mace. “That volley tells it. They don’t suspect we’ve crossed the openin’. Come on!”

“No—here; not that way,” said Revel. “Furder south, in the direction of the night-hawk’s notes. They were made by the Injun girl, an’ mean, come. We’ll find it safer in that direction!”

And the prediction proved true. As the rangers crept in the direction indicated, their practiced ears heard stealthy footsteps a few rods away, approaching the open space they had just left.

Acting on the supposition that the way was clear before them, they ventured on more haste. Twenty minutes passed, and they were far from the scene of their late struggle. And all the while Will Revel was looking for some sign of Moorooine’s presence. The section of forest they were now in was not very dense, and the stars overhead afforded a faint light around them.

“We’re less ’n a mile from the lake,” said Mace, halting. “Scarred Eagle must ’a’ heerd the shots, an’ orter be clus by ef he landed anywhar opposite us. I’ll venture on a signal, anyhow.”

But another signal was given before him—that of the Indian girl, meaning “beware!” She was evidently at some point between them and the opening they had left. Were the Indians following them toward the lake?

A few moments of strict silence convinced them of this. Savages at the right, left, and not a hundred yards behind them.

Their predicament was hardly less dangerous than half an hour previous. They were further from their foes, but the latter had them within an arc, with the lake-shore for a base.

To get out of this was the point. They began a hurried consultation; but it was quickly brought to an end. Behind them, and on either flank the Indians were approaching rapidly. That the latter were aware of their position, was evident from their bold movements.

The rangers glided directly forward, from tree to tree. Presently the ball was opened by the discharge of several rifles behind them. A bullet grazed the arm of Ben Mace, the others were untouched. Then came a chorus of fierce, loud yells, enough to curdle the blood; but not of these men, who were now on a full run.

They knew ten minutes would bring them into the denser portion of forest, skirting the lake. Once there, a better chance would open for concealing themselves or stealing past their enemies.

“Spread out!” said Mace. “Thar’ll be less chance o’ bein’ hit.”

“Let us turn on dthe domd apes,” cried Tim Devine, as a bullet grazed his shoulder. “Dthey be on us in a minnit.”

“No; r-r-r-r-run, durn ye!” blurted Hill.

A peculiar whistle at this moment rung out at quite a distance ahead. All knew it was that of Scarred Eagle, and pressed on for life.

Three minutes later.

“I—say—Mace, what d’ye think of—”

“Yis; down for a second and turn on ’em. Don’t waste lead!”

A number of Indians converging from the right were hardly thirty yards distant. Three or four of them had just fired, and a hasty glance behind showed them coming on in something of a cluster.

The pursued rangers suddenly stopped, dropped on foot and knee, and poured a volley into their pursuers. Then, amidst the echoes of yells and groans, they sprung onward again, like lightning. But the check they had given in one quarter was more than balanced by loss of time and the proximity of their enemies coming directly behind.

“Every man for himself, an’ devil take the hindmost!” The action of the borderers was in keeping with this old saying, at least. Knife in one hand, rifle in the other, they sped on, intent on penetrating the deeper lines of darkness ahead.

The Indians were fearfully near. The foremost were hardly thirty feet behind when a hatchet whizzed, striking Tim’s rifle and whirling him half round. He was barely in time to recover his balance and club his rifle.

“Take dthat! Och, here’s for betthur nor worse, thin!”

He had laid one of his assailants low, and the next instant was grasped by another. By great good-fortune he knifed this one, who in convulsive agony bore him to the ground. At the moment two rifles rung out and two savages fell headlong, rolling over both.

With desperate quickness, the Irishman sprung up in time to see one or two men vanish before him. He sprung after them, not certain whether they were friends or foes.

The matter was soon determined. A dozen bounds brought him to a natural barricade of prostrate tree-trunks, over which he tumbled in his excitement, his heels coming in contact with the head and shoulders of a man.

“Gi-gi-git—oh, cuss ye!” muttered Hill.

“Hish!” said a voice. “Crunch down hyur all on ye, an’ not stir onless—”

The voice was that of Scarred Eagle. He had not a chance to finish the sentence, for a dark body of savages were rushing on, not ten yards away. He himself dashed away with Goodbrand, leaving the men crouched under the fallen timber.

Every one of them understood Scarred Eagle’s object. His plan was the bold one of trying to draw the entire posse of Indians past them, running the risk of escaping himself afterward. And, indeed, the bounds of himself and Goodbrand, as they sped away, were enough to convince the pursuers that all their victims were yet running. But to make the deception more perfect, a loud, excited voice cried:

“Now—to the lake-shore for y’ur lives!”

The next moment a number of savages rushed past, on either side of the concealed men, and four or five sprung directly over them. One of these, unfortunately for himself, slipped and fell beside them. But the incident was unheeded by his companions, and before they were a dozen bounds away, the hand of Ben Mace stilled the savage forever.

Then every man reloaded as quickly as it was possible to do in the gloom.

“What d’ye think, Mace?” whispered Revel.

“We might ’s well skim back an’ git ter the bivouac ef we kin. The woods ’pears ter be full on ’em, cuss ’em!”

“Just what I think. Less you an’ me an’ Dan, try to find poor Hank an’ the rest, an’ make stret back.”

“An’ laive Scarred Aigle is it?” said Tim. “Divil blow yees, pwhat wan of ye—”

“Oh, shet up!” ejaculated Hill. “Him an’ Goodbrand ’ll uther dodge ’em or take th-th-the boat; blast ye, come on!”

They moved quickly and stealthily back on the course. There was no danger of their being heard, for the commotion made by the outwitted savages came every moment to their ears.

But they had not proceeded very far when the noise and commotion ceased. Mace paused and glanced back anxiously.

“Mebbe the murderin’ skunks begin ter suspict what’s happined,” he said. “Must be Rhodan an’ Goodbrand ’ll uther git back this way, ur take to thar canoe. But ef I thought—”

He suddenly ceased speaking and listened intently. A thrill war-whoop echoed through the woods in the direction of the baffled Indians. It was succeeded by a chorus of fierce shouts.

“One or both on’ ’em’s took!” exclaimed Mace, excitedly. “’Twas the price fur snatchin’ us frum death, an’ I fur one ’ll go back ag’in’ all odds!”

“Good, me hairty!” exclaimed the impulsive Irishman. “Tim Devine ’ud foller yees ef ’twas to dthe mouth of purgatory itself. Thrue as me father was a docthur!”

Ere the generous Celt had concluded, all of them had started. Each knew it might be his last tramp on earth. But not one of them would have hesitated even before more certain perils. And they hoped that Scarred Eagle might yet escape.

As they were hurrying on, a dark figure appeared suddenly before them.

“No go yit—wait,” said a low voice.