The following morning Rodney chanced to see the half-breed, "Maman," as Louis called her, though Rodney felt sure she was not his mother, talking very earnestly with Caughnega and their talk ceased when he approached, which aroused his suspicion. He made inquiries of Louis and learned that Caughnega was the "medicine man" of the village and possessed influence. Ahneota was the more influential and the boy shrewdly guessed that Caughnega was jealous.

A chief of a tribe maintained his influence through no laws, for the Indians had none. The position might be strengthened by the chief having influential relatives, but this did not appear to be true of Ahneota. Generally speaking, a chief retained his place because the tribe trusted and respected him, as it was evident they did Ahneota. Not only members of his tribe, but other Indians, came and held counsel with him. At first Rodney hesitated about calling on the chief but gradually became a daily visitor at his lodge.

One of the accomplishments which Rodney had learned from Thello was fishing. When leaving home he had taken a good linen line and several iron hooks. Indians speared or netted most of the fish they took, but occasionally angled for them with bone hooks and lines made of twisted fibre. The boy obtained permission to fish and in this way often contributed to the food supply of the village.

Food was held in common. Any one having it was expected to share equally with the others. When luck smiled on the boy he was careful to have a nicely broiled fish to take to Ahneota. He also attempted to make friends with Conrad but always met with a surly reception.

Louis was so friendly as to be almost a nuisance, especially as Rodney believed the little fellow's fondness for him was a cause for the dislike of Conrad and "Maman." The little boy, whenever he could escape the watchfulness of "Maman" would pay a visit to Rodney's wigwam, which had been made quite substantial, being covered with strips of elm bark. Louis was always clamouring for stories about white people and one evening, Rodney replied: "I have told you all my stories. Now you must tell me some; tell me of the place where you lived before you came here. Is 'Maman' your real mother and is your father living?"

A startled look came into the lad's big brown eyes. He peered about in the growing dusk, then he said: "You will not tell? Maman says she will kill me if I tell. Maman is not my mother. She had eyes like flowers and papa, he was gentilhomme, would carry her in his arms when she was sick. He was tall like Ahneota, only his eyes were not so black. Mamma called him her soldier."

"Where is he now?" asked Rodney, thoroughly interested.

"He went away after mamma died and I went to live with grandmere above Lachine. Marie, that's Maman, she says I must call her that, she was a servant for grandmere, who died last harvest. She was not sick a long time like mamma, but only a few days. Marie said it was small-pox, and we must go away and find papa, but we have not found him. I want to see my papa," and Louis threw himself sobbing on the ground.

Rodney stroked his long yellow hair and called him "Yellow Locks," but the little chap peevishly exclaimed, "I like Louis better. I don't want to be called 'Yellow Locks.'"

A faint noise behind caused Rodney to turn quickly. There stood Marie, the half-breed!

How much had she heard? the boy asked himself; but he was learning to control his feelings, and he said pleasantly enough, "Good evening, Maman. Louis is tired and I reckon wants to be in bed."

"I want to sleep here," exclaimed the child.

"Not to-night," replied Rodney. "You are too tired and the bed in Maman's lodge is softer."

She took the little chap up in her arms and carried him away. It was evident she was fond of him, which might account for her having stolen him, as it appeared she had; also for her jealousy. What would be the end of the muddle? Rodney asked himself. He thought of the stake and the frenzied villagers dancing around the fire with blood-curdling yells. Would he be able to endure the torture? He hoped so, for the boy was proud of his race. But why borrow trouble? All around him were signs of peace and savage contentment. The little camp-fires twinkled in the gathering dusk. Some of the squaws sang bits of a wild lullaby to their children and he could hear, in droning refrain:

"Wau, wau, tee, say. Wau, wau, tee, say,"

sung as a lullaby by one of the squaws, who had slung the wicker-work frame, into which the papoose was strapped, across the limb of a tree and swung it back and forth while she sang, as one would rock a cradle.

"Poor little mummy," thought Rodney. "No wonder Indians can endure pain. Tied into that framework straight as an arrow and unable to brush away a mosquito or help themselves, they ought to learn to endure anything."



CHAPTER IX

A WHITE BOY ADOPTED BY THE INDIANS

It already has appeared that Conrad's wish that he might be adopted by the Indians, a thought which comforted him as he lay bound on the first night of his captivity, had been realized; also that he had been adopted by the old chief, Ahneota, who now wished to adopt Rodney.

As Conrad's experiences were such as the other lad might expect, should he finally yield to the old Indian's desire, a brief account of them may be found interesting.

Following the night of Conrad's capture the party travelled for two days in a westerly direction. Just at dusk on the second day they came to a small river. Here canoes were brought from hiding and all, save one Indian who swam across with the horse, paddled to the other side in the canoes.

Arriving on the other bank several guns were discharged, followed by lusty yells that soon were responded to with like yells from over a wooded ridge near the river. Within a few minutes squaws and papooses came running to meet them.

Though Conrad was a stolid lad his pulse quickened, for he had heard many tales of tortures inflicted by the savages. The Indian dogs snapped at his heels; the children and some of the squaws tormented him by pinching, slapping and threatening, to all of which the men paid no heed and the boy tried to appear indifferent.

As they came near the village all the spectators formed in two lines, between which he was ordered to run.

He was to run the gauntlet! For an instant his heart stopped beating, the next, a sharp blow from a stick set the blood inherited from a brave ancestry tingling through his veins.

Lowering his head he charged, as a mad bull charges, warding off what blows he might with his sturdy arms. He was thwacked with clubs, jabbed with sharpened sticks, tripped and pommelled till it seemed that not an inch of his body escaped. One old hag threw a handful of sand in his eyes and he stumbled, but crawled the few feet remaining between where he fell and the wigwam toward which he had run. Once inside, his tormentors left him. He was so sore that he almost wished he could die. After a time he slept and thought his mother came to comfort him, but it was only a young squaw who brought him food. Then one of the men came and the boy complained of the rough treatment. The Indian said that running the gauntlet was the custom, that he had been brave and the Indians would adopt him into the tribe, and Conrad could have cried for joy, only that he was a boy who did not cry.

Conrad never forgot the day he was formally adopted into the tribe. First in the ceremony was washing away his white blood and, it seemed to the boy, at least a part of his skin as well.

In full view of the assembled tribe, whose ideas of modesty differed much from those of civilized people, he was stripped and led into a pool in the river and there thrust under the water and then stood upon his feet and scoured with sand. This was the most thorough scrubbing Conrad ever was to have. Life with the Vuysens had not been conducive to cleanliness and Indians in those days were not noted for bathing.

Following the bath came the process of greasing him from head to foot and decorating his face with pigments, after which he was clad in breech-clout and moccasins. This done, he was seated upon the bank for a no less severe ordeal.

This consisted in plucking out the hair of his head, all but a tuft, or scalp lock, to which coloured feathers were tied. An Indian did the work, dipping his fingers in ashes that he might get better hold. Conrad never winced or made outcry throughout the various ordeals.

A blanket was given to the boy, who was then led into a wigwam, where an old Indian conducted ceremonies, on which Conrad looked with awe, though understanding but little of them. Their solemnity, however, impressed him deeply and it is very doubtful whether, after they were over, he would have dared run away had he been so inclined.

The boy's eyes were light blue and his hair was yellow; but his cheekbones were high, his face stolid, so that now, when paint and grease had been added to sunburn, and he stood clothed in full Indian garb, no one would think him other than an Indian but for those tell-tale blue eyes.

The Wyandottes, of which people he now considered himself one, occupied territory in what is now the north-central portion of Ohio.

The year was 1772, not long ago in history, but measured by change, very long ago. Then, the country was little different from what it had been for thousands of years. Now, it seems another world and the map of it shows great cities where were forests and connecting these are what at first resemble spiders' webs, but which are highways. Few white men then came to that region, where now few red men are seen, indeed none living the life they then lived. Such whites as came were a few French voyageurs and Jesuit missionaries and hunters and traders from the English colonies. The traders did not scruple to exchange, for valuable furs, guns, tomahawks and ammunition, which they knew would be turned against the whites of the frontier in time of war; and many of them sold the savages liquor, knowing an Indian would sell his soul for it and having drank it would become a fiend incarnate.

On the south flowed the Ohio River, along which white men were pushing their way, and settling on land in what is now Kentucky and Tennessee, and looking with covetous eyes on the land between that river and the lakes, but which the Indians claimed had been reserved to them by treaty. The shrewder among the Indian leaders foresaw the time when they would have to fight and overwhelm the intruders or submit to their hunting grounds being spoiled by the white man. This feeling of uneasiness was spreading among the tribes, and the younger warriors were eager to fight and not infrequently were guilty of marauding expeditions.

One day a party of young braves had returned from a hunting expedition down in what was called "the dark and bloody ground," Kentucky, which the Indians of the North and the Cherokees and Chickasaws of the South made common use of for a hunting place. Frequent were the bloody skirmishes fought by these hostile tribes in this territory, though none of the Indians made permanent homes there. This party had brought back several scalps and among them Conrad noted two torn from the heads of white men. Ahneota had looked grave and the boy shuddered, and for the first time his dreams about his future were not as bright as they had been.

One day there had come to the village a Frenchman, clad in the picturesque garb of a voyageur, wearing a gaudy handkerchief about his head and a gay capote, or blanket coat which the savages much admired. With him was a half-breed woman and Louis, then not quite ten years old. Conrad thought this boy the most attractive person he had ever met and the little fellow, clad in the softest of deerskin tastefully ornamented and wearing a jaunty cap of the same material, was indeed a handsome lad. Conrad had attached himself to the boy as does a dog to his master. When Rodney arrived, and the little fellow preferred him to his former companion, then Conrad, who in one year of the wild life had become an Indian in looks, became one at heart.



CHAPTER X

HATING, BUT WAITING

Ahneota was an Indian of superior intelligence and varied experience. As the summer advanced, and the corn and tobacco which the squaws had planted in the meadow put forth glossy leaves and promise of the harvest, the boy's visits to the old chief became more interesting as well as more frequent. Rodney recognized in him his only safety and instinctively knew that the Indian liked him.

The more he learned of the aged man's wisdom and his kindness toward the people of the village, the greater his wonder at the ferocious expression in the face of this savage when persuaded to recount his exploits. There could be no mistaking that this otherwise kindly old man bore the whites a bitter hatred, though more tolerant of the French than of the English.

In his youth Ahneota had been taught by a Jesuit missionary, indeed had been regarded as a convert. He had retained, however, many of the superstitions of the savage; believed in all sorts of evil as well as good spirits, thought animals had spirit existence after death, had faith in dreams, and, though he had little to do with the arts of the "medicine man," so great was his dislike of Caughnega, Rodney became convinced the chief also believed in them, to some extent, at least.

"The French," he said, "treat the Indian like a man who is weak; the English treat him like a dog they despise. Both cheat him, but the Englishman kicks him after he has robbed him, or kills him and takes his scalp." He declared that the traders robbed the children of the forest, and that every frontiersman wanted the Indians killed so as to get the land. He had known of Indians being shot in time of peace by trappers, who murdered them for their furs and took their scalps and kept them so as to get bounty on them whenever there should be war with the red men.

"But you would kill an innocent white woman and torture her children, in revenge for the wickedness of the traders."

"Palefaces do not punish palefaces, but honour them for the bad deeds done to the Indian, and must we suffer alone?"

"It's impossible for us to punish these traders for deeds we white people know nothing about."

"Ugh!" and there was bitter scorn in the old savage's exclamation, "you do not open your ears. The trader boasts and white men laugh."

Rodney felt there was much of truth in what the old savage said, moreover he feared to excite him by further controversy, so to turn the conversation he remarked, "You must have been with the French in the great war?"

"Ahneota brought many scalps to the French," he replied, proudly. "Frenchmen give us many presents for our furs. They do not steal our land and drive away our game."

Reminded of those fearful scenes during the war, he stood erect and, pointing his long arm toward the southeast, said, "Ahneota fought Braddock. At Bushy Run his bullets made white men sleep, but Colonel Bouquet was wise and fooled Indians. Ahneota go with Pontiac, and cut off his gun so to hide it under his blanket and go inside Fort Detroit. He was a chief at Bloody Run. The French promise much. They make fool of Indian and tell him Great Father across big water had slept, but was awake and would come and help his friends, the red men, and bring beads and brandy and shining cloth."

"Do you think the Indians did right in pretending to be friends of the English in order to kill them?"

"You think trader right when steal Indian's furs? Soldiers killed our women and children. They scared away the game and we must starve. They say they brothers of Indian; they lie. They make us old women so to steal our land. They fool the Delawares. What does 'Little Knife' say when they kill good Indians at Conestoga and make dogs of Moravians? Ahneota declares paleface and Indian can never live together."

The hatred displayed in the face of the old savage was unmistakable, yet the boy did not fear him.

"You must have seen Colonel Washington in the Braddock campaign?"

"I have seen him. The Great Spirit keeps him and turns the bullets away from him."

"He is much respected in Virginia. He inherited a big estate, Mount Vernon, with much land and many slaves."

"Like all palefaces he wants more. He sends men into the Indian country to take more land."

"The Indian does not use the land as do the English. The Indians want to roam and hunt over it. The white man works hard and builds a home and lives on much less land than does the Indian."

"He scares away the game and the squaw and pappoose must cry in hunger. The Great Spirit made this country for Indian and he must hold it or follow the sun."

Rodney did not know but that he had said too much, yet he liked a good argument and was curious to learn how the Indians felt and what they believed. "Do the Indians want to dig up the tomahawk and make war on the whites?"

"The young braves do, but Ahneota fought with Pontiac. No chief was ever obeyed by so many Indians, by Ottawas, Wyandottes, Pottawattomies, by the Ojibwas of the far north, all took the war belt and made their faces black. Some day another great chief will bring the war belt and the red men will follow where he may lead, but he has not come. The signs are not right. Already the Great Father of the English says to his children, 'I have made peace with much wampum with the Father of the French. Give me wampum.' The children grow angry; they kick away the peace belt and will not smoke the pipe. Then the Indian will rise from the ground like the leaves in a big wind and blow in their faces. When father and children quarrel, the eagle comes down like fire from the sky, and the wolves howl in the forest."

The boy sat looking into the wild face of the savage and shuddered. He knew the Indian hated and waited, and, when the storm burst, he would be like a wild beast.

Notwithstanding the bitter hostility displayed by the old man, his counsel was for peace and it was evident he feared a conflict would be precipitated before the Indians could be ready. He scowled at all reports of disturbance. The capture of Rodney worried him. Whenever the subject was mentioned he would say: "Shawnees. The spirit of evil is upon the red man and the paleface."

One day the chief asked the boy if he knew Daniel Morgan, who lived at Winchester, and from the Indian's manner of speaking it appeared he had great respect for the man's fighting qualities. He told of an attempt to ambush Morgan, in which he took part. They shot him, the bullet entering the mouth and coming out on the left side, taking the teeth along with it. Morgan was on horseback. He reeled in the saddle but clung to the horse's mane and urged him forward. Ahneota ran after him, thinking to seize the horse, as he was a swift runner. Failing in this, he threw his tomahawk. He failed to hit Morgan, though his skill at throwing the hatchet was great. He declared the evil spirit turned the tomahawk aside that Morgan might live and persecute the Indians. After the war, such was his curiosity, he visited Winchester to learn more about Morgan, and told the boy many things, which the latter was to recall.

A few days later Francois, who had brought "Maman" and Louis to the village, came back to buy furs, offering in exchange blankets, knives and hatchets, powder and ball, also he had several bottles of brandy. The "fire-water" was, of course, the most attractive of his wares and by afternoon several Indians were drunk, among them Ahneota. When Rodney learned this his heart sank, for his old friend was helpless to protect him. He looked for Caughnega and noticed that he was sober. That fact indicated he intended mischief. Unless an Indian had a very strong purpose in mind, he would not refuse liquor. Later, Caughnega and Marie were seen talking together, and then the trader joined them. Rodney was walking past, and when near them Caughnega noticed him and made a signal to the others and they lowered their voices. Out in front of the village the young braves had built a fire, and were dancing around it and yelling like fiends.

"Do they intend to burn me?" was the question which arose in the boy's mind.

"I'll die trying rather than waiting," said the boy to himself. He hastened to his wigwam, and taking some dried meat and parched corn, arming himself with knife and hatchet, also bow and arrows, he stole unobserved out of the village and into the woods.

Most Indians of that day had become unaccustomed to the use of bow and arrow, and were dependent on the whites to furnish them with guns and ammunition. This was a fact which the old chief bemoaned. Rodney, being deprived of the use of a rifle, shrewdly induced the old Indian to show him how to make a bow and arrows and how to use them and he already had acquired considerable skill.

A little distance away in the forest stood a large tree with a hollow trunk, inside which a tall man might stand up straight, though the opening was small. Once he and Louis had made a sort of perch in the upper part to which a boy might crawl and be safe from observation, unless one went to the trouble of crawling into the hollow and looking up.

Rodney made his way to the tree as best he might in the gathering dusk and hid himself on the perch. There he remained throughout the night, with dismal thoughts for companions and the cries of the night hawk to cheer him. Toward morning he fell asleep. He was awakened by a slight noise and, looking down, saw the face of Caughnega peering in!

Fortunately for both, the savage did not see the perch and went away. Later, Rodney, cramped and sore, crept out in quest of a drink of water. On his return a sound inside attracted his notice and listening, he heard sobbing. It was Louis. With a cry of joy the little fellow threw himself into Rodney's arms, saying, "I thought you had run away. Caughnega said you had. He was hunting for you last night, and this morning I told him about this place but he came back and said you were not here."

"Don't you ever tell him where I am when he's hunting for me. He hates me and would like to kill me. But how came you here?"

"Maman was cross like a bear and Francois whipped me."

"And she let him do it?"

"Non, but she was so cross I wouldn't tell her. Francois was tipsy."

"The drunken dog! I'd like to horsewhip him. Well, you run back, and when Ahneota is sober tell him I've not run away but will come back when the carousal is ended. Don't say anything to any one else about me. If Francois beats you again tell Maman."

Louis turned back toward the village and, at a turn in the path, met the tipsy Francois. Rodney saw the meeting, and concealed himself behind a tree.

The voyageur had no arms other than the knife in his belt. When he saw Louis he cried, "He bien! Tiens! prends cela," slapping the little fellow's face and knocking him down.

Seeing this Rodney was infuriated and forgot all caution. In a few bounds he reached the voyageur and, as the latter turned, hit him a stinging blow on the nose, following it with a well directed one on the Frenchman's chin. The fellow went down like a log and Rodney on top of him. He rolled the dazed man on to his face and bound his arms behind his back with a leather thong he carried.

"I'll fix you if you ever strike Louis again. You get back to the village and, if you want to live, you behave yourself."

Francois was a sorry sight with the blood streaming from his nose. He was sobered and scared but he was to have revenge.



CHAPTER XI

FATHER MOURNING FOR SON

What of David Allison's fortunes? Weeks had lengthened into months and no word had come back to Charlottesville from the man whom the great woods had swallowed.

After several weeks of weary travel, through forest and by river, the party had reached the location they sought. It was one that would attract even the most practical and stolid of frontiersmen: a plain of several hundred acres surrounded by the forest, a detached part of those great plains farther west, which stretched hundreds of miles with scarcely a tree to dot the expanse.

Along each of two sides of the plain a small stream ran, the two uniting in quite a respectable little river that joined the Great Kanawha River a few miles distant. Through the tall grass of this little prairie were great "traces" or paths beaten by the feet of passing buffalo, elk and deer. Fish swam in the streams and the wild turkey's call was heard in the forest.

"The Garden of Eden with a redskin for sarpint," was the remark of weather-beaten Dick Saunders, when first he looked upon it.

"We'll do him no ill an' consider weel before taking his advice aboot forbidden fruit," replied David Allison.

On the eastern side of the little prairie, near the forest, a stockade was built of big logs, sharpened at both ends and set close together in the ground, enclosing about an acre in the form of a rectangle, on one side of which, and forming part of the stockade, were several cabins.

The work of construction was arduous and occupied the greater part of the summer but when completed it afforded a wall of protection, and a place where, another year, such cattle as they might be able to drive over the mountains could be sheltered from Indians.

As yet no sign of the red men had been found. While this country was part of the neutral ground between the savages of the North and those of the South, a territory over which all hunted, yet through it warlike bands frequently passed on their expeditions, for there was a chronic state of hostility between these savages.

The new settlers planted a little corn, but for other food relied upon hunting. Late in the fall all but three, of whom David Allison was one, left for home, planning to return in the spring with their families. Clark had not remained with the settlers as he had other ventures. Mr. Allison sent a letter to his wife by the only one of those returning, who lived in Charlottesville; but he, being taken sick on the way, did not reach home till the following spring, after Rodney had started to join his father.

The winter months passed slowly for David Allison. Most of his companions were uneducated men, accustomed, as he was not, to the rough life. They respected him and he did his share of the work uncomplainingly, though an older man than the others.

One bitter day an Indian called. As there had been no alarm, the entrance to the stockade had carelessly been left open and he readily gained admittance. It appeared he had been with a hunting party, but became separated from them and was nearly famished. He was given something to eat and was then told to go along about his business. In those days some Indians would hang around a settlement, living off the bounty of the inhabitants, and these men didn't intend to encourage the habit. A storm threatened and the Indian was loath to leave. Mr. Allison took him to his cabin and kept him until after the storm was past.

This act did not please the others of the party and one of them remarked, "Ye'll find that handlin' lazy, sneakin' redskins is different from teachin' school boys."

"I'm of the opinion there's human nature i' the whole o' them," was the quiet reply.

The three men got along without unpleasantness until spring. One day in March Peter Cogan went out to hunt and did not return. Later he was found dead and scalped.

For the first time in his life the horror of Indian treachery in time of peace was forced upon Mr. Allison's mind. He had fought them and knew of their cruelty in time of war, but he had never lived on the frontier and had supposed the stories of outrages somewhat exaggerated and due to ill treatment. His views had been similar to those held by the Quakers of Pennsylvania. Surely this fiendish deed was unprovoked. With but two left, there was need of the utmost caution and neither of the men ventured far from the stockade.

One evening in May several guns were discharged in succession outside the enclosure. The first party from Virginia had arrived and the warmth of their welcome may be better imagined than described.

"What of home?" were the first words.

"All well."

"But I thought to see the lad along wi' you," said Mr. Allison.

Then was told the story of the attack on the Ohio, when one man had been killed and Rodney had disappeared, whether killed or captured was not known.

"An' you left, deserted him!" he cried, and his cry sounded like a scream. "Cowards each one o' ye! Who'll go with me to find the laddie? Not one? Then I'll go alone."

It was with difficulty that he was restrained, and finally convinced of the folly of such an undertaking.

"You have a wife an' child at home yet to care for," said one, "an' it's not yer duty to throw yer life away," and the wisdom of this prevailed with him. But he was never the same man again. The stoop came back to his shoulders never to leave them. He said little and worked unceasingly, as though in that way to forget. On his first opportunity he turned his face toward Virginia, resolved never to bring his wife and little girl into the perils of the wilderness. The journey back to Charlottesville was uneventful. Nearly as many weeks were required for the making of it, as hours in this age of swift transportation.

How he dreaded breaking the news to his wife! She was always so patient with his many failures. Yet, the courage displayed by Mrs. Allison at the setting out of husband and son was such as to leave no doubt she would meet the new ordeal bravely, as indeed she did. From the first, she expressed great hope that the boy had been made a captive and in time would be restored to them, and so strongly did she urge this view of the matter that her husband regained a little hope. In his heart, however, there was a bitterness he could not overcome and, as rumours of Indian outbreaks were more frequent, he became uneasy. When, the following spring, General Andrew Lewis was ordered by Governor Dunmore to lead an expedition down the Kanawha River, and across the Ohio River to the Shawnee towns, David Allison resolved to go. The men of the party from which Rodney was captured declared that their assailants were Shawnees and this induced him to enlist under Lewis.

The mortgage on the little place was as yet unpaid. Mr. Allison on his return had reopened his school, but the pupils were few. He went to Denham, told him of his desire to join the expedition against the Shawnees and his reasons, and asked him if he would not allow him longer time on the payments.

"All the time you want, Meester Allison, all the time you want," and he smiled his greasy smile!



CHAPTER XII

IN THE MIDST OF INCREASING PERILS

Rodney did not dare to follow Francois back to the village, nor did he think it wise to return to the tree. Being thirsty, he risked a visit to the spring, waiting till the dusk deepened and the last squaw had filled her kettles or the deerskin bottles in which they carried water. Having drank, he concluded he would pass the night on a little dry knoll near the spring, and from which he could observe what was happening in the village.

As he lay looking out upon the bluff, whereon sat the village, and down on the broad meadow, he admired the location with the eye of a young pioneer. What a delightful spot for a plantation! His boyish imagination pictured a home like "The Hall" on the bluff overlooking the creek. Back of that he would have the negro cabins and the stables, for he would have fine horses like Nat. With such a home he would be as important a man as Squire Danesford and his father need be under obligations to no man. Had Lisbeth married her cousin and gone to England? And so day dreams drifted into those of sleep.

The next morning he returned to Ahneota and told him what had occurred. The old chief seemed contrite after his debauch, but did not mention it. As Rodney left him he said: "Better be Ahneota's brother," but the boy shook his head, saying: "You know why I cannot be."

Francois had left the village. Caughnega did not look at the boy as they met. That evening Conrad came and, much to the boy's surprise, suggested that they go fishing in the morning. Rodney readily agreed and the following morning they went up the creek several miles to a place where the stream broadened out into a small pond. Its shores were lined with lily pads under which the pickerel lay in wait for their prey, motionless as sticks, which they resemble.

Rodney, who had fished there, led the way to the mouth of a little inlet, where a tree had fallen into the water. He had cleared away the rotten limbs so that he might go far out on the trunk and be able to cast the bait at a specially inviting spot. Wishing to be friends, he offered Conrad the place at the farther end and also the loan of his better fishing gear. Conrad, who was very glum, hesitated, but finally accepted the offer.

Now, there is luck as well as skill in fishing, as every one knows who has tried it. Again and again they would both cast their minnow bait, which was exactly similar, and Rodney's would be the hook that was seized. Once, while the latter was baiting his hook, a huge pickerel, darting like a flash of light, took Conrad's and he, being too eager, yanked vigorously before the fish had taken the bait far enough into the mouth to be securely hooked. Rodney immediately skipped his bait over the place and the fish, taking that, was skilfully landed. He was a beauty. The look of hatred in Conrad's face startled his companion but he soon forgot it in the sport he was having. Tired at last, he said: "Let's go back to the village, Conrad. We've got enough for one day."

"Yah! You back go vith basket full an' show Louis an' ol' chief vat a smart brave you be."

Rodney made no reply, but turned and carefully picked his way over the slippery trunk toward the shore. While doing this a thought of the look of hatred in his companion's face prompted him to turn his head.

Close behind him, with his hatchet uplifted in the act of striking, was Conrad!

Rodney thrust his pole backward as one would thrust a spear and the butt hit the other boy full in the chest, knocking him off the slippery log into the water.

Squirming and spluttering, he tried to regain his feet but, instead, sank deeper and deeper.

He had fallen into a quagmire!

By the time Rodney had recovered his self-possession Conrad had sunk to his chin. The delay of another minute and he would have disappeared from this story.

Rodney ran back and reached out his pole. The other seized it and was pulled to safety, covered with mud.

The boys stood looking at each other. Conrad said nothing, but looked more sullen than ever, though his blazing wrath was well extinguished. Finally Rodney spoke.

"Why did you try to kill me?"

"Och! me, I hate you."

"What for?"

"You, you a paleface."

"That's not the reason. So are you."

"Nein, me, I a Wyandotte brave; ain't so."

"I never wronged you."

"Louis my brother vas und you come. You tell him Conrad not goot brother, alretty."

"That's false. I never said a word against you. Some one has been lying to you."

"Maman heard you, yet."

"She heard nothing of the kind. She wants me killed for some reason, and is trying to have you murder me, kill me from behind like a coward."

"Red man's vay for me goot enough."

"Well, it's not good enough for me. 'Twould have been an Indian's way, I suppose, to have let you go down out of sight in the mud. If I'd had the slightest enmity to you that would have been my chance after you tried to murder me, you blockhead! I've a good mind to give you a thrashing. Maman and Caughnega have been making a catspaw of you to do their dirty work. If you had a spoonful of sense you'd know, now anyway, that I have nothing against you. If you are jealous of me, help me to go back to Virginia out of the way. Don't try to strike me down from behind."

Conrad hung his head. He had not lost his sense of shame altogether, and, noticing his embarrassment, Rodney, prompted by an impulse he could not have explained, held out his hand, saying, "Let's shake hands and be friends, to each other and to Louis. He'll need us both." Conrad met the offer and they returned to the village, no word being spoken on the way.

About a week later Conrad came to his wigwam and said, "Go to Ahneota's lodge. Francois has a Shawnee brought, vat say you to heem belong."

This was startling news indeed; Francois's revenge!

Rodney lost no time in reporting to the chief, who remarked, "They have been long in coming," from which it appeared he had expected them.

Francois, bustling and important, announced a messenger from "our brothers, the Shawnees, who has come for this paleface, a runaway."

"Let him enter," replied Ahneota, with dignity.

A villainous looking fellow, accompanied by Caughnega, entered the lodge. Rodney did not recognize him, which was not strange; indeed, he may not have been one of the party that captured the boy.

Having entered, he made formal demand for the return of the captive. To this Ahneota replied: "Our people are at peace with the paleface. They have wronged us, but we wait. Leaves do not fall until the tenth moon. The hatchet is buried. The paleface sits by our fires and smokes the pipe of peace."

To this the Shawnee responded: "I have come for my prisoner. Our brother would not warm at the fire of the Wyandotte the snake from the lodge of the Shawnee."

"Do you, my brother, come from the mighty Cornstalk, wise in counsel and fierce in war?"

The Shawnee hesitated, and Ahneota continued: "Has he declared war on the paleface?"

The Shawnee drew himself up, he was tall and strong, and replied:

"If Shawnee meet Wyandotte bringing venison to his lodge does he ask him where he got it and take it from him?"

"If my brother kill the paleface and bring war on the tribes when there is peace, shall my lodge be burned by the braves of the paleface? No, my brother. Go back to Cornstalk and say Ahneota would sit in council with him before the hatchet is dug up," saying which the old chief signified that the talk was at an end and the Shawnee withdrew discomfited.

When Rodney learned what the old chief had done in his behalf his heart warmed in gratitude toward the old savage. At first opportunity he thanked him, but the Indian made no reply. Caughnega soon after left the village and did not return before the village was moved that fall farther north, where the hunting was said to be better.

One day Louis came to him, crying, to bid him good-bye as Maman was to take him to the river, which he supposed meant back to his former home. She had told him he was to see Father Arbeille again and was to be taught how to be a wise boy. Louis did not want to go, and Rodney feared ill for the little fellow. There was nothing he could do, however. He did speak to Ahneota about it, and said he thought she had stolen the boy and intended no good toward him.

"She would be like bear for cub, she would die for him. Would Little Knife do as much?"

This name the savage had lately given the boy. The Indians termed the Virginians "Long Knives," hence the name, "Little Knife," applied to the lad.

That winter several of the men relied upon for hunting visited a distant tribe, and meat grew scarce. Since the departure of Caughnega and Maman, Rodney went about more freely and the old chief loaned his rifle and allowed him to hunt. He and Conrad made several excursions together. On one of these trips they set out with but little food and wandered for several days, nearly starved and half frozen. On the third day Conrad, discovering a hole half way up the trunk of a big tree, stopped.

"Vat you tink?" asked Rodney, mimicking his companion's speech, for now they were excellent friends.

"I tink dat one goot hole for bear, ain't so?" was the reply.

"You suppose an old fellow has a nest in there?"

"I tink some look in be goot."

They cut down a sapling standing near, "lodging" it against the big tree. Then they built a fire and, collecting the tips of green boughs and long grass damp with frost, tied them into a bundle at the end of a pole. While Conrad "shinned" up the sapling till the pole would reach the hole, Rodney lighted the bundle which smoked like a "smudge." Conrad thrust the smoking bundle into the hole and, a minute later, a wheezing sound was heard. Bruin was there and was waking from his winter sleep!

Rodney seized the rifle while Conrad slid to the ground. But the bear looked out and made no effort to descend.

Conrad then relighted the torch and climbed up far enough to thrust it in the bear's face. This angered him and he began to back down the tree.

Unlike Rodney's first encounter with a bear, the lad now had ample time for taking steady aim and the brute fell mortally wounded.

How delicious the meal, which followed, tasted after their long fast!

Taking as much of the choicest cuts as they could carry, they returned to the encampment to find the Indians in a famished condition. Ahneota for the two previous days had given his allowance of food to the children.

The winter, what with hunting and trapping, passed quickly. The wild, free life with all its hardships and annoyances appealed to Rodney, and he came to understand how children taken captives by the Indians, and later returned to their parents, would occasionally run away and rejoin the red folk. His home ties were too strong, however, for him to entertain such a thought, and he lay awake many nights wondering how he might make his escape.

The severity of the winter had greatly weakened Ahneota. The skin was drawn over his cheekbones like parchment. He was so lame with rheumatism that he needed constant care and the boy served him in many ways.

The hunters, though few in number, had gathered a fine lot of furs, and, when the ice was breaking up in the streams, the sugar maples were tapped. Their implements for this purpose were crude. Their method consisted in cutting a gash through the bark with a tomahawk and into this driving a chip which served as a "spile" to conduct the dripping sap into the dishes of elm bark, from which it was taken and boiled into sugar. This sugar was often mixed with bear's fat and stored in sacks made of skins, a mixture much prized by the Indians.

A little later the tribe returned to the bluff where Rodney was first introduced to its life, there to plant the corn and tobacco.

Rumours of trouble with the whites increased. The latter part of May Francois returned, but without Maman and Louis, and he brought, to trade for the valuable furs, rifles and ammunition and brandy, and waxed rich, while the savages with their new implements of war became more restless.



CHAPTER XIII

THE BEGINNING OF WAR

From the history of those days one learns that there were white savages who compared unfavourably with the red ones.

Of such were those border ruffians who, tempting the family of a friendly Indian with liquor till they were stupefied with drink, murdered them.

The Indian chief returned to find them weltering in blood. He was an Iroquois who had moved his family from New York to the Ohio River.

His Indian name was Tahgahjute, but he was commonly called Logan from the fact that he had in early life lived with a white family of that name. Ever after he had been a staunch friend of the whites. Now he became almost insane in his natural anger, and went about among the various tribes calling on them to avenge his wrongs.

Had those border ruffians desired to bring on an Indian war they could not have so quickly done it in any other way. Soon, tales of pioneer families murdered by the Indians were brought over the mountains into Virginia. Logan's friends were seeking vengeance.

Undoubtedly the war would have broken out later had not Logan's family been murdered. The Indians believed they must fight or be overrun by the white immigrants pouring into the western country.

The royal governor appointed by the king over the colony of Virginia was, at this time, Lord Dunmore. He was an ardent loyalist, but he also is said to have been interested financially in some of the land ventures, concerning which there was much interest in the colony, also much speculation. Though Governor Dunmore knew that the policy of the English ministry at the time was conciliatory, he did not hesitate to prepare for a war which should bring the savages to submission.

Just why the English ministry tried to discourage immigration into the western country is not definitely known. Doubtless there were various reasons. England wanted peace with the savages. Only a few years before, her representative, Sir William Johnson, had made a treaty at Fort Stanwix with them and given them many presents. They had been told they should have, as their own, the country north of the Ohio. The laws which governed the province of Quebec, recently captured from the French, were to be applied to the western country, a plan which did not meet with the approval of the colonists who wanted laws of an English character.

There were influential men in England who were interested in the fur trade with the Indians, which would be seriously injured if the country were opened up to settlers. Besides, the colonies of Virginia and Pennsylvania made conflicting claims to the new land and each had friends in England.

Many of the colonists declared that England feared to have the powerful colonies increase in power with new territory, and wished to confine them to the seaboard. Be that as it may, Dunmore resolved on establishing Virginia's claims by prompt and effectual warfare. Perhaps he thought to divert the colonists' minds from the increasing hostility to England. Instead he was to take the first step toward securing that rich land to the United States of America.

This is but one of many instances when the plans of supposed wise men result in the opposite to that intended.

The assembling for this war might be likened to a swarming of bees and hornets, the one for the sweets of fertile lands and adventure, the other for vengeance on account of wrongs received at the hands of the Indians.

There came a British officer, pompous and resplendent in scarlet and gold; the British soldier for his first experience in border warfare; the trapper with his long rifle and frontier garb; the sturdy settler in homespun. Nor were the camp followers altogether absent, those who hang about for pickings and have little intention of fighting.

One heard the polite accent of culture, the soft spoken Southerner, the dialects of Scotch and Irish and the gutturals of the German. About them were the green woods and filtering through the leaves overhead the hot sunshine of summer.

Early in the season that already famous frontiersman, Daniel Boone, had been sent to the Falls of the Ohio to lead back to the settlements a party of surveyors. He did it, for in the ways of the wilderness no savage was his equal.

Governor Dunmore, on July 12, 1774, ordered General Andrew Lewis, who twenty years before had been with Washington at Fort Necessity, to raise four regiments of volunteers and, going down the Great Kanawha River, to cross the Ohio River and march against the Shawnees on the Scioto. In this expedition was David Allison.

Another expedition was to meet near Wheeling to assist General Lewis. For this purpose Major Angus McDonald marched seven hundred militia and frontiersmen over the mountains in the latter part of June. Daniel Morgan assisted in raising a part of this little army from among his neighbours and acquaintances, which were many, for he had served in the two previous wars with French and Indians and was a natural leader of men.

Under the supervision of George Rogers Clark, none other than "Cap'n" Clark who had induced David Allison to try his fortunes on the Kanawha, Fort Fincastle was built. In the latter part of July these troops moved down the Ohio River to Fish Creek and started on a raid against the Indian villages on the Muskingum River, which is fed by the creeks that flow through the country where Rodney Allison had been passing his months of captivity, one of them the creek overlooking which stood the lodge of Ahneota.

Of this motley army some were in canoes, some in pirogues and others in batteaux. In a large canoe, third back from the prow, sat a fine-looking man, distinguishable from his associates in more ways than may be easily described. His clothes were such as one would see on the well-dressed man about the streets of Philadelphia; his companions were in the garb of the frontier. He was broad of shoulder with erect, military figure; while they were lithe and sinewy. His features bore marks of good breeding and his voice and language were those of a man of the world.

His companions had discovered that he knew nothing of woodcraft, but much of military matters. Just where Morgan found him or he Morgan does not yet appear. On the day the militia assembled Ezekiel Holden of Boston had given him a name. Ezekiel was a character, Yankee to the backbone. He had found his way to Norfolk on a coasting vessel a few months before and was "lookin' araoun a leetle." "Zeke" was fond of argument and delighted in arguing with Virginians about what he considered the superiority of New Englanders. He was for liberty and "pop'lar rights," "first, last an' all the time," and the rich Virginians he looked upon as part of the English aristocracy, descendants of those who had fought for King Charles, while "Zeke" wished it understood his forebears fought under Cromwell.

When he saw this man he was in the midst of his pet argument and exclaimed: "There's one o' them chevaliers naow," meaning cavalier, but pronouncing it "Shiverleer." From that moment the rather distinguished looking recruit was known among his fellows as "Chevalier," and in truth the name fitted his manner excellently. Furthermore he appeared to like the nickname and to take delight in letting his companions know that he considered himself their superior, though, be it said, this was in a spirit of humour rather than of conceit, and he was ready to share toil or rations with his mates. Yet this air did not please them and there was consequently much chaffing.

The afternoon was hot and the men tired, just the moment when a little inspiration was needed. One of the men said to his fellow in the prow of the canoe, "Nick, ah reckon it's about time fer you to lead off with a tune, one we kin hit the paddles to," and this was Nick's response:

"The only good Injun, he died long ago. Shove her along, boy, shove her along. An' thar's nary one left on the O-hi-o. Push her along, boy, push her along."

"Bravo, my worthy companion in toil. Verily thou makest the bending ash to glide through the water like a swan's wing. Another verse and we bid adieu to work."

"If it affects the Chevalier that ar way, better give him another, Nick," said one of the men.

"The trees do grow tall where the corn ought to grow, Push her along, boys, push her along. Virginny's a-comin' an' she don' move slow. Shove her along, boys, shove her along."

"I would applaud, but my paddle is now going of itself and I dare not let go. Methinks we'll find around the next bend Pan with his flocks of aborigines assembled and kneeling in adoration. I'm not sure but he'll have the moon goddess with him."

Now the Chevalier's three companions knew nothing of Pan or the moon goddess, with the possible exception of Nick, whose knowledge of mythology, if he possessed it, had not as yet appeared. Not knowing, they resented this intrusion of classical subjects and one remarked, "Your talk has a sweet sound; 'sposin' you sing us a verse."

"Oh, melody is a wayward minx and vouchsafes her treasures of song to few. Were it springtime and had I the gift I would sing:

"'When the red is on the maple and the dogwood is in bloom.'"

"Keep right on, you'll bloom right soon," said Nick with a laugh in which all joined.

"Keep her goin', Chevalier," said another.

"Forsooth, my merry men, Puritans, Roundheads, I'll try:

"When cavalier doth draw his steel The ranks fall back and yeomen kneel, For that is as they should.

The pikes may gleam in thousands strong, But men who ride shall right the wrong. For throne and home they stood."

"Sure they stood not on the order o' goin', or I've misread me history," laughed Nick.

"Ho, ho! my merry figure-head at the prow, this from you, et tu Brute! I feared the lines would not scan, but it's not expected that every man in the crew must be an Adonis because the figure-head of the craft is a thing of beauty. One failure begets another, 'tis said, so perhaps you'll like this no better:

"Oh, the paddle, the knife and the trusty gun, And a land in which to roam; The stars at night for my beacon light, Wildwood for my home; What care I for the gay cavalier, His plumes and his flashing steel? He rides not here in the grassy mere. In grateful shade of the forest glade We laugh at those who kneel."

"Ah! but that's worse than the first. I yield the palm of song to him who goes before me."

This bantering was interrupted by a stalwart man sitting in the prow of a canoe which overtook them at this point. He was as fine a specimen of rugged manhood as all the border could produce, being over six feet in height, of commanding figure and boundless energy and courage. He was Daniel Morgan and, laughing as he spoke, he said: "I've heard of hunting Indians with fife and drum, but charmin' 'em with song is something new, I reckon."



CHAPTER XIV

HORNETS WITH AND WITHOUT WINGS

During Francois's visit a runner came in with the report that two Indians, descending the Ohio River in a canoe, had been fired upon and killed by the whites. Inflamed by the brandy they had drank, and infuriated by the report, several of the younger men blacked their faces, set up a war post and danced around it in the firelight like demons, yelling and throwing their hatchets into the post. The following morning a party of them set out for revenge.

On such occasions Rodney kept in hiding as much as possible and his mind was dark with forebodings, so that he would wake in the night from dreams of torture and find himself wet with perspiration.

A little later Logan himself came to the village, pleading that the Indians dig up the hatchet and unite in a war of revenge upon the whites for the outrage committed against him. He was a distinguished looking Indian, straight and tall, a typical chieftain of the better sort. Ahneota pleaded the necessity of delay, but, that being of no avail, urged him to secure the services of Cornstalk, the wise and wily Shawnee chief.

Rodney sympathized with the Indians until a returning party brought back scalps torn from the heads of women and children as well as from men, and then his heart sickened and he looked on them with trembling to see if among them he could discover that of his father.

Having no rifle, the boy armed himself with the bow, this being his only defence in case of attack, though he knew it would be of little use against savages armed with rifles. One day, in the latter part of July, he was strolling through the forest not far from the village when he heard voices.

During his captivity Rodney had learned to stalk game and this training he now put to use. Stealthily approaching, he saw a group of strange Indians, and with them Caughnega. The latter had set up, in a little opening among the trees, his wigwam of skins, in which he was accustomed to perform certain of the rites of a "medicine man." The boy knew that Caughnega's fame was not confined to the local tribes, and at once concluded these Indians had come to consult him, probably as to what the spirits, good and evil, might have to say respecting the approaching war.

Evidently Caughnega had begun his work, for he was now ready to enter his wigwam. Silence came upon the group waiting patiently outside. After quite a long wait a medley of sounds issued from the interior of the wigwam in which Caughnega was shut and the structure itself rocked as if in a gale. Knowing that Indians can mimic the sounds of all animals and birds with which they are acquainted, the boy had no doubt these sounds were made by Caughnega himself. If so, he was certainly an artist, and the assembled group sat around awestruck, for they had no doubt the noises were made by the spirits.

After the disturbance subsided, Caughnega came out and, standing before them, addressed them, telling what, he said, the spirits had told him. The message incited the savages to great ardour, which they manifested by brandishing their tomahawks and yelling.

"So this is the work that villain is doing unknown to Ahneota," thought Rodney. Just then he espied a large nest of hornets suspended to a limb overhanging the group. He recognized the nest as that of a variety of hornet which is large and valiant. The spirit of mischief entered the boy and, taking careful aim, he shot an arrow, which struck and tore away a portion of the paper nest.

Now a hornet does not hold a council of war when disturbed, but instantly attacks, like an Indian, the first object that presents itself, and in this instance Caughnega was the first target.

He stood, his back toward the nest, pouring out the words of the message in sonorous tones. Suddenly this flow of language was punctuated by a blood-curdling yell, as one of those winged bullets struck him just behind the left ear. About the same moment others in the group were hit. Yells and back somersaults were mingled for a moment, and then those doughty warriors fled as never from the face of a white man.

Rodney lay on the ground in convulsions of silent laughter.

On returning to the village the boy related his story to the old chief, who listened gravely and at the end said, "The Great Spirit will be angry."

"Do you believe the 'medicine man' can talk with him?" asked Rodney, incredulously.

"Ahneota knows the ways of the birds and the beaver, but the ways of the spirits he does not know. I see the medicine lodge tremble and hear voices; they are not the voices of Indians."

Rodney did not dare to argue the matter, and there was silence for a long time. In the flickering firelight the old chief's face was ghastly.

The boy fell into an unpleasant reverie. Soon would come the moment when he must flee, for to remain, he was sure, would mean his death. The difficulties of escape, because of the uprising among the Indians, had greatly increased.

"Between here and La Belle Riviere are many Mingoes, Delawares and Shawnees. Little Knife cannot fly nor leap from tree to tree like panther. He must be brother of Ahneota."

The boy was startled. It seemed to him that the Indian had been reading his thoughts.

"The paleface comes and Ahneota's brother must take his scalp. That Little Knife cannot do," Rodney replied.

Silence of many minutes followed. Rodney became uneasy and was about to leave when the chief, taking a stick in his trembling hand, drew it over the sand and began to describe the country which lay between them and the Ohio River.

"Before another moon," he said, "the palefaces will come in many canoes to the Indians' country. Little Knife will run to meet them. He will not be the brother of the chief. He must go to his people. He must go like the fox."

The following day Ahneota called in several men of the village and Rodney. Then, giving his rifle to the boy, he said: "Little Knife has been brother of Ahneota, has brought him meat when he starved. He must have gun to bring more meat, for the chief is old and cannot hunt."

The Indians did not look pleased, for the rifle was a valuable one and much coveted. One said, "White blood must be washed away," but, as the old chief made no reply, they went away.

As the boy started to leave the lodge the Indian lifted his head and said, "When Little Knife points the old chief's gun at man, let him not see the colour of skin."

Rodney now began to store up, against the emergency he knew was approaching, a stock of dried venison, and hominy and parched corn. His experience when surrounded by hostile savages had taught him the difficulty of securing food on the march.

As he lay in the shadow of a bush one day he noticed a little worm travelling along a twig. It was the variety commonly called an "inch worm," which advances by pulling its rear up to its forward feet, its back in a curve, and then thrusts forward its length. As the boy watched its laborious progress he thought, "If one may only keep going he'll get there in time," and somehow he felt encouraged. Had he not thought it his duty to remain and care for the old chief he would have set forth that very hour.

As he came near the village several guns were fired in quick succession down at the creek and he knew a party of savages had returned from one of their raids!

The inmates of the village hurried down to meet the newcomers, but the boy lagged behind. Soon they came running back and formed two lines. Some captive must run the gauntlet!

The prisoner was a man of forty years or more. His hair was long and matted and his arms were bound. Evidently his captors had found him a difficult subject with whom to deal. In running the gauntlet he could not ward off the blows, his arms being tied, but he delivered one well directed kick that doubled a brave up in agony. He got through, but was horribly beaten. All the while he was yelling at the savages in derision, calling them old women and apparently doing everything in his power to enrage them.

A post was set in the ground in front of the encampment, and the prisoner was led out and tied to it. On the way he kicked an Indian, who in his rage would have killed him on the spot, had not another interfered. Sudden death in preference to torture was evidently what the captive sought, but it was not to be granted.

Thinking Ahneota might prevent the torture, which now seemed inevitable, Rodney hurried to the chief's lodge. Within, it was almost dark and he could but dimly see the figure of the man seated on a bear skin, his back against a bale of furs. His head was inclined forward, his chin on his breast.

"Ahneota!" called the boy loudly in his excitement, but there was no answer.

Thinking the Indian slept, the boy grasped him by the arm to wake him.

Ahneota had passed to the "happy hunting ground!"



CHAPTER XV

A WELCOME VOICE

Dense bushes fringed a bluff looking down on the Muskingum River. In these, concealed from view, lay a boy of fifteen. His face was worn and thin. His moccasins and leggins were frayed from much running through undergrowth. He was peering through the branches to a bend in the river. He had lain there hours, watching. That morning, a canoe containing two savages came up past him. The Indians were paddling vigorously. Why their haste? That was what the boy would know.

The reader has guessed the lad's name and so will readily understand that Rodney Allison concluded if the Indians were being pursued it was by white men.

Ah! was it? Yes, surely that was the shadow of a canoe. Now he could see its sides under the overhanging branches which concealed its occupants from his view.

"An' all tin twins o' thim great at shenannegan, An' all o' thim born in pairs. Pat an' Terry, Tom an' Tim, Peter, Mary Ann—"

"Halloa!"

"There's one of 'em coming down through the bushes now, Nick," exclaimed a man in the stern of the canoe.

"I never could sing that song without interruption, Chevalier."

The speaker had shipped his paddle and grasped his rifle, saying as he did so: "Look out, boys, the voice is white but there may be red shenannegan behind it."

Rodney Allison leaped to the beach below in full view of the party. There he stood, panting and staring as though at a ghost.

"I say, sonny, if ye've objections to our looks now's the time to put 'em on file," said Nick.

"Dominick Ferguson! I thought you were dead!" gasped the boy.

"Aisy now, don't feel so bad bekase I'm not. Whereabout did ye find the handle o' me name, lad?"

"So you're not the man the Indians killed, that day down on the Ohio, when they captured me?"

"Do I look loike I was?" Then dawning comprehension showed in the man's face. "Ah reckon poor Job Armistead was the unfortnit one; he never showed up. May your name be Allison?" he asked.

"It is. Have you room in the canoe for one more?"

"We'll make room," spoke two of the men at the same moment, turning the craft to shore. Thus, after long months of captivity and days of fleeing through a country infested with warlike savages, Rodney Allison came back to his own people.

"You must have seen my father, then, Mr. Ferguson?" said the boy as he stepped into the canoe.

"Sure; found him expectin' ye an' he was nigh crazy. You ought to heard him call us cowards an' knaves fer leavin' ye. He wanted to start right off alone to bring ye back, an' would, but we told him thar were others in his family to think about."

"Where is he now, and have you any news from Charlottesville?"

"He went back to Virginny an' give up the enterprise down on the Kanawha. Saw a man the other day who said he heard yer father had joined the men under Lewis. Now if he'd come along with us we'd had a family gatherin' right out here in the woods. The family's well, I reckon, or yer dad wouldn't hev gone sojerin'."

The next day the expedition left the river and began a march toward an Indian settlement known as Wappatomica Town. In the order of this march the division under Captain Wood went ahead, much to the disgust of some of the men with Morgan, for they were greedy for glory, and a chance to win laurels and the consequent promotions.

As they were marching through a part of the country through which Rodney had passed in his flight, he remarked to Ferguson, "I don't envy the fellows on ahead when they come to a place about a mile from here. If I know anything about Indians, they'll lie in wait for us there," and he described a locality where he had hidden from a party of savages, one of the critical experiences in his flight.

"Me lad, you come with Ferguson," and Rodney was conducted by him to Morgan and introduced.

"Well, my boy, if you got out alive we ought to be able to get in."

"Captain Morgan, from where I lay in hiding that day a dozen men could shoot down fifty marching below."

"This lad, Captain, knows what he's talking about. The chief of the village where he was captive was the redskin that shot ye through the neck and chased ye an' threw his hatchet at yer head."

"Yes, Ahneota said the Great Spirit turned the tomahawk aside so that you might live to persecute the Indians."

"I hope the old rascal was right. I think, young man, we'll need you for scout duty."

"Askin' yer pardon, Captain, but the lad's had his share o' risk, to my thinkin'."

"Nick, we are here to do something. Every man must do the best he can. This boy can do that work better than you or I. If you were the best man would ye shirk it?"

"I'll go, Captain," replied Ferguson, "but don't send the boy."

"I want to do what I can, Captain Morgan," said Rodney.

"I can tell 'em, Ferguson, I can tell 'em," and the look of approval Morgan gave the boy as he spoke was one for which Rodney Allison would have stormed an Indian town alone and single handed.

"Now, young man, you run ahead and warn Wood. Tell him Morgan sent ye."

Rodney ran forward with alacrity, proud of the responsibility that had been placed on him. He had not gone far before he discovered that the place of ambush was much nearer than he had thought, an error wholly excusable, considering the conditions under which he had first seen the country.

He ran at top speed, but was too late, otherwise he might have been among the men who fell under the volley which a band of about fifty Indians, lying in ambush at the very place indicated by the boy, poured into the ranks of Captain Wood's men.

Rodney hesitated and then ran forward, joining in the melee.

A moment later there was yelling and commotion behind, and Morgan and his men came running to their support. A heavy hand was laid on the boy's shoulder, and Captain Morgan demanded of him, "Do you know of any place where we can get behind the red devils and dislodge 'em?"

"This way, Captain," and Rodney ran to the right. He recalled the way he had left the hiding place. Up that bluff they might attack the Indians in the rear.

"Come on, boys," Morgan shouted, and a rush was made upon the heels of young Allison.

A shot from above warned them that the Indians had discovered their approach. Rodney heard the bullet singing. The next instant Morgan seized him by the shoulder, saying, "Go back! You are ordered to the rear;" then, with a yell, the leader charged up the hill, his men close at his back. The charge dislodged the Indians and they fled.

The troops advanced toward the town more cautiously, but found the Indians had deserted it, carrying away everything movable.

"Why ain't we chasin' 'em, I'd like to know?" asked an ensign with an important air.

"We first better find out whether they're running or hiding," replied Rodney, nettled at the fellow's importance.

"Sensible remark," said Captain Morgan, who had come up and heard the conversation. "You know something about this country, also about Indians. Suppose you slip along behind the trees an' cross the creek half a mile up stream and see what ye can find. Don't shoot unless obliged to and don't hurry. Don't leave shelter until you are sure there ain't a redskin behind the trees in front."

It was a perilous task, and some might blame Morgan for assigning the boy to it. As it has already appeared, he would ask no one to attempt that which he wouldn't do himself, and the conclusion must be that he thought the boy the best one he could send on the duty which some one must do.

The boy had listened to Ahneota's descriptions of Indian methods in battle and knew they would have scouts out. He believed the main body would simply cross the stream and lie in wait for the troops and attack them crossing so as to throw them into confusion. They would, however, send men to reconnoitre the main body of the troops, and these scouts, assigned to a task similar to his, were the ones he must avoid, a difficult thing to do, as will be readily understood.

Rodney made his way with extreme caution until he caught a glimpse of an Indian stealthily advancing toward the main body of troops; then, believing that Indian would be the only one sent from that quarter and having eluded the redskin, he went hastily forward to the creek, crossing it at a narrow place fully half a mile above where the savages had crossed.

Making his way down toward the ambush was nerve-racking work, but finally the boy was rewarded by discovering a sentinel on guard.

The Indians were waiting just where he had supposed. Now to get back without meeting the scout he had passed! At last the feat was accomplished without a glimpse of a savage on the way. On his arrival he found the troops getting ready to advance, for another scout, sent out at the same time as he, had returned with the report that he found no Indians and that they must have fled.

"Well, they are there," exclaimed Rodney, and he told what he had seen.

"The youngster's got redskins on the brain, I calc'late," drawled one fellow, at which the boy got very red in the face.

Captain Morgan here appeared, saying, "You're back at last. What d'ye see?"

When the boy described what he had done Morgan promptly said, "You did your duty, my boy," and proceeded to act on the information. A guard was posted to make sure the savages did not recross and make an attack, for it was found they were in considerable force.

After several days, during which skirmishes were fought and the Indians beaten, the savages sued for peace and were asked to give hostages.

Rodney did not believe they wanted peace. They had been too angry to be satisfied with no worse defeat than this. His opinion proved correct and, the troops being short of provisions, a retreat began, everything belonging to the savages being first destroyed even to the corn, of which the troops took for their own use all they could carry. In fact, before they got back to Wheeling, they were obliged to live on one ear per day to each soldier, very short rations for men marching and fighting, as the savages dogged their footsteps and inflicted considerable losses on them.

There were times on the retreat when it seemed the troops would be cut off and annihilated. In this struggle Rodney bore his part so well as to win the approval of his associates. One day on the retreat, when the boy and the "Chevalier" were acting as flankers, scouting ahead and outside the main body, Rodney saved his companion's life.

The "Chevalier" was not familiar with Indian methods of fighting and held them in contempt. He and the boy had several arguments about the matter, the former contending that a savage was dangerous only when one was running away from him.

In the work they were now assigned to, it was a part of wisdom to screen one's self behind trees, advancing quickly from one to another.

The "Chevalier" declared he was not out in that country for the "fun of dodging." Rodney, however, adhered to the practice, luckily for both.

The "Chevalier" was striding along as though an enemy were not within a hundred miles, when the lad's trained eye caught sight of the heel of a savage, who was kneeling behind a big tree and waiting for his foe to pass. The "Chevalier" was walking on, his head up, and in three paces would have exposed himself to the redskin's rifle.

Rodney yelled an alarm and took a quick shot at the Indian's heel, the only part of him exposed.

"Jump behind a tree and hold your fire," the boy had cried, for, if he missed the savage, he would need the protection of the "Chevalier's" rifle before he could reload. But his shot went true, as a howl from the savage bore witness.

Startled by the cry and the report of the rifle, the "Chevalier," for once, moved quickly to cover, and, between the two, they compelled the Indian to surrender. He had a painful wound in his ankle and finally, after being disarmed, was left behind, though some of the men wanted to kill him.

The "Chevalier" extended his hand to Rodney, saying, "I have you to thank for my poor existence. You did ill trying to do well, but of course you didn't know it. Perhaps I will find a way to repay."

The man spoke seriously, not in a spirit of banter, and Rodney wondered. When he told one of the men later what the "Chevalier" had said, the fellow remarked: "So the Chevalier was solemn, was he? Kain't be possible his mightiness is sufferin' from liver complaint with only one ear o' corn a day."

All were glad to be back at Wheeling, where Major McDonald decided to wait for the arrival of Governor Dunmore. The governor finally arrived in all the pomp of war and with enough men to raise the total number to about twelve hundred.

Up to the time of his arrival it had been supposed that he would take his army down the Ohio River and join that of General Lewis before making an attack on the Indians. Now he announced that the army would proceed in boats down the Ohio to the Hockhocking River and up that river to the falls, whence he would march across country to the Indian towns on the Scioto River. He sent messengers to General Lewis ordering him to join the main body at that point.

"If the redskins learn what's up they'll have a chance to wipe Lewis off the earth," remarked one frontiersman in Rodney's hearing.

The Indians did learn Dunmore's plan and almost succeeded in defeating the division under Lewis.



CHAPTER XVI

RODNEY MEETS WITH REVERSES

All historical accounts of the battle between the forces under Lewis and the allied Indians commanded by the Shawnee chief, Cornstalk, which occurred at Point Pleasant on the Ohio River, October 10, 1774, agree that it was the fiercest conflict which had been fought in this country between white men and Indians led by an Indian, unaided by the advice of any white officer.

Cornstalk was a chief of unusual ability and good sense. He had been opposed to the war, but, finding it inevitable, succeeded in raising a formidable army of the various tribes, and commanded them with such skill and bravery that, in the battle, which lasted all day, the Indians fought doggedly and all but achieved a victory, which would have made a very different affair of what is known as Dunmore's war.

His spies had kept him informed of the movements of the two Virginia expeditions, and he resolved to attack them separately before they could join their forces.

Leaving scattering bands of Indians to delay the advance of Dunmore, he marched his main body of warriors to the Ohio River, crossed, and attacked the troops under General Lewis.

This commander had wisely chosen a position on a point, having the Ohio River on his left, Crooked Creek on his right, and the Great Kanawha at his rear. He was a veteran seasoned in the French and Indian war. With him was the courtly John Sevier, a French Huguenot planning for fortune in the lands of Kentucky, James Robertson, a wise leader of pioneers, and others of but slightly less distinction in the eyes of the hardy men who had gathered under their leadership.

All day long the battle raged there among the trees of the forest. The colonists could hear the voice of Cornstalk as he passed from tree to tree among his men, encouraging them. Rarely did they see more of their foes than a coppery gleam from behind a tree trunk, perchance the arm or leg of a savage or a glimpse of his warlock, and it was sure death to leave the shelter of the trees.

Toward night the company, with which David Allison at the time was associated, was ordered to make a flank movement. This was done with great difficulty and danger. When the movement was nearly accomplished, the men leaping from tree to tree as they advanced, he fell with a bullet through the neck. A brawny savage leaped from his cover, knife in hand and greedy for a fresh scalp, when a ball from a colonist's gun stopped him half-way and he too went down in the brush by the side of his victim. Over them leaped friend and foe without heeding.

Allison had fallen into a depression between two little knolls and the savage in falling had swept the bushes down over him so that he was covered from view. Later the Indians succeeded in dragging away their fallen comrade but overlooked, fortunately, the body of the white man.

General Lewis and his men were eager to pursue and thoroughly chastise the Indians. They reasoned that, while they were about it, the only wise thing to do was to administer such a defeat that the red people would keep the peace for years to come.

They crossed the Ohio and took up their march toward the Indian towns. When Dunmore's messenger arrived with orders for them to join him they were angry. He had left them to their fate, they had won a hard earned victory and were determined to follow it to its logical conclusion.

Lord Dunmore's force, after building a hastily constructed fort at the mouth of the Hockhocking River as a base for their supplies, continued to advance on the Indian towns. The savages had met overtures for peace with evasive replies or delays until they heard of the defeat of Cornstalk at Point Pleasant, then they earnestly sued for peace.

Cornstalk urged a continuation of the war, but in vain. The savages had acted more determinedly under him than ever before, but now they wished to save their towns and crops from destruction.

Dunmore moved forward to a place called Camp Charlotte. Lewis pushed ahead to wreak vengeance on the savages, not stopping until a third order had been sent him by Dunmore commanding him to halt.

Lewis and his men thought this an interference with their rights. There were many heartburnings in his command, and rumours that Dunmore was acting under the advice of England to put an end to the war were generally believed.

Rodney obtained permission to visit the camp of General Lewis, eager to find his father. He went without forebodings and with a feeling of assurance that he should find him. The Indians had been defeated. The command had won a glorious victory, and, as is usually the case, while exulting over it, he overlooked the sacrifices made and hardships endured. He did not realize that General Lewis had lost half his commissioned officers and between fifty and sixty of his men. When told that his father, the man he loved above all others, was missing and undoubtedly had fallen in the battle, the blow was terribly hard to bear. He had known nothing like it, and made his way back to his quarters as one walking in his sleep. There, Morgan chanced to find him, his head bowed in his hands.

"Homesick, my lad, or a fit o' the blues?"

Morgan had a voice that sounded in battle like the roar of a lion, but in it, as he spoke to Rodney, was a tone of genuine sympathy and the boy broke down and sobbed, as though heartbroken. Throughout his captivity and when in extreme danger he had not shed a tear.

"Take heart, lad, an' let me know what I can do for ye."

After the boy, struggling with his sobs, had told him, there was silence for several minutes. Morgan's hand was laid kindly on the boy's shoulder, and finally he said, "I'd like to comfort ye, boy. He wouldn't like ye to mourn. He'd say, if he could, 'just go ahead an' do yer duty.' Death comes to us all sometime. An' I want you to remember that Daniel Morgan'll never be too busy to lend ye a helpin' hand if it comes his way."

A pressure of the sinewy hand on the boy's shoulder followed the words, and the kindliness it signified went straight to Rodney's heart. He never forgot it. That day another was added to the full ranks of those who loved Daniel Morgan and would follow where he led, though they might know certain death awaited them.

Governor Dunmore sent runners to the Indian towns requesting the chiefs to meet him. All complied with the request save a few in the northerly towns and Chief Logan. Major Crawford was sent with a force to destroy the towns of those who had failed to respond to the request, and in this force went the men under Morgan. They met with no resistance and, after burning the villages, the troops returned. An interpreter and a messenger were sent to Logan, and to them he is said to have made the memorable speech, a model of dignified eloquence and sublime pathos, beginning: "I appeal to any white man to say that he ever entered Logan's cabin but I gave him meat." Broken in spirit, he afterwards became a sot and was killed while in a drunken fury.

Hostages having been taken from among the Indian chiefs and arrangements made for the return by the Indians of all whites held captive by them, they promising to observe the Ohio River as the boundary of their territory, Governor Dunmore's army returned to Virginia.

On arriving at Fort Gower they were met by the news that England had closed the port of Boston, hoping by this arbitrary measure to punish the independent colonists. This news was doubtless received by Governor Dunmore with delight, but it was otherwise with the great majority of those in his army. Expressions of sympathy for the Bostonians were heard on all sides. Moreover, Dunmore's delight was to be tempered with chagrin when he heard that the House of Burgesses had appointed a day of fasting, as an expression of the Old Dominion's disapproval of England's act.

For several months these men of Dunmore's army had been deprived of what many, even in that day of primitive living, considered necessities. For weeks at a time they had eaten no salt; they had slept without other covering than the sky overhead. They were returning victorious, yet believing that Dunmore, instead of contributing to that victory, had belittled it.

Self-reliant, hardy, convinced they possessed in their own strong arms the power to live and rear their families in this great country of the new world without interference from England, they spoke very plainly. Meetings were held, and at one of these a speech was made which, alluding to what they had been able to accomplish, concluded: "Blessed with these talents, let us solemnly engage to one another, and our country in particular, that we will use them for no purpose but for the honour and advantage of America and Virginia in particular."

A resolution was passed to bear faithful allegiance to King George, the Third, "while his majesty delights to reign over a free people," a proviso worth noting; also worthy of note is the fact that this resolution pledged them to do everything in their power for the defence of American liberty. Indeed, many of the men shook hands on an agreement to march to the defence of Boston if necessary. Some of them were to be called upon to fulfil this promise.

Such demonstrations away out there on the frontier ought to have served as a warning to the royalists, but they gave it little heed. The "Chevalier" forbore to take part and looked upon the whole affair with a pitying smile. "I know of none more in need of being ruled over, than you, my merry lads," he said and laughed at the scowls in the faces of his associates. He laughed, too, at the retort of Ferguson, "Sure, me gallant warrior, 'tis we as will have a word to say aboot the ruler an' how he rules, mind ye."

Ferguson had expressed the temper of the men composing the army, while the "Chevalier," with his confident smile, was a type of many throughout the colonies who did not for a moment doubt the ability of England to govern the new land as she might wish.

At the post where the men received some of the pay for their service, Rodney Allison was to undergo temptations and experiences that were to cause him bitter reflections. The soldiers had endured privations and, as frequently happens, many sought relaxation in debauch at the first opportunity. Liquor was to be had by those with money to pay for it, and many a frontiersman would not leave it until his last penny should be spent and then would resume his life of wandering and peril. With the drinking there was gambling with cards and dice.

The drinking had no attraction for young Allison; on the contrary he looked upon it with deep disgust. Ordinarily the gambling would have had no fascination for him. Indeed, until his captivity, he had not known one card from another. One of the accomplishments Ahneota had learned from his acquaintance with white men was the use of cards, for which he had a great passion, and to please him the boy had spent many an hour playing various games.

Rodney's grief over the reported death of his father, his dread of returning home with the sad news to face debt and poverty, coloured his thoughts,—often woke him from sleep, and made him reckless. As he watched the games he heard a familiar voice and, looking, saw Mogridge at a table with large winnings at his hand. Rodney, from the day they first met, had cherished an unreasoning dislike for the young Englishman. He felt, rather than knew, that Mogridge had been instrumental in having his father dismissed by Squire Danesford. The boy was shrewd enough to suspect the fellow had come on with other adventurers to meet the army and fleece the unsuspecting. That money at his hand would clear the little home from debt and assure protection for the family for the present. How cool and insolent the fellow was!

"Sorry your luck runs so badly. The game's much less interesting, you know," Mogridge drawled as he swept the poor fellow's money into his own pile. Then, looking up and noticing Rodney, though it did not appear that he recognized him, he said in a bantering tone, "Hello, here's a young warrior who looks as if he'd like to tempt the fair goddess, Chance, with a sixpence."

With the hot blood pounding his temples, and scarcely knowing what he did, the boy took the proffered seat.

"I'll take a hand, if there be no objection," said a bystander with a wink at Mogridge, which Rodney could not see.

While the cards were being shuffled the "Chevalier" came along and remarked that the game would be worth watching. Neither Mogridge nor his "pal" seemed pleased, but the "Chevalier" remained standing where he could observe every movement of Rodney's antagonists. The cards were dealt and played. The luck, which so often leads the amateur on to his downfall, smiled on the boy.

"If the gentleman from London doesn't like the luck that goes with the warrior's sixpence I'll let some worthier foeman have my place," said Rodney, who, now that his excitement had subsided, desired to leave the game.

Mogridge looked narrowly at the boy, but apparently failed to recognize him, and he replied, "Gentlemen usually grant their antagonists an opportunity to win back the smiles of the fickle goddess."

"Deal," replied Rodney with an air of importance he was far from feeling.

The "Chevalier" yet loitered near, and luck continued to run in Rodney's favour. After four hands, and with quite a little pile of winnings before him, he wanted to leave the game, but was ashamed to do so. Then Mogridge said, "Let's double the stake," which was done. The cards were dealt, and the play was begun, when the "Chevalier" coolly remarked, "Card exposed. You'll have to deal over."

Mogridge's little eyes looked like tiny, glowing coals, and closer to his long nose than ever, but the cards were dealt again, and again the boy won. Then Mogridge and his confederate rose and left the table while Rodney sat gloating over his winnings.

"One who would accustom himself to the whimsies of Fortune must learn to lose as well as to win. In your behalf I will endeavour to instruct you in that part of the game, my boy. Won't you gentlemen remain to see that I pluck the winner fairly?"

"You're welcome to such small game. We didn't know we were poaching on your preserves," replied Mogridge in a surly tone, walking away.

Rodney was surprised. He had no desire to play with his friend. Yet in a masterful way the "Chevalier" appeared to take it for granted that they would play, and proceeded to deal the cards. The boy shrank from saying or doing anything which would excite the man's ridicule, for he had come to regard him as a superior sort of a person, and was somewhat in awe of his rather grand manner.

The first game Rodney won. Then the "Chevalier" remarked, as though he were doing the lad a favour, "Now we'll not prolong this; I must be going. Here's my wager."

To meet it required the last shilling of the boy's winnings, but he staked it all, and the "Chevalier" won, coolly swept the money into his pocket, all but a few shillings which he carelessly shoved toward the boy, saying, "You'll need those to get home. It's bad practice to wager one's last farthing."

Friends of Rodney Allison would not have recognized him now as the same fellow he was an hour before. Fury filled him to overflowing. That coveted money was gone and his own with it, taken by a man whose life he once had saved, his supposed friend, who now had plucked him as one would a pigeon. He seized the money and threw it in the Chevalier's face, then, as he reflected what his act signified, he grasped the handle of his knife in readiness to defend himself.



The "Chevalier" fixed his handsome eyes on the boy. His face was pale but those burning eyes held the lad as under a spell. Then the man spoke, his words as cool as ice, his voice low but painfully distinct: "One might think, my boy, you had staked your character, your soul, and lost. That's what the gambler does. I did not realize this till I had killed my best friend. You will understand my motives better when you learn more."

He turned away. The boy looked after him, and shame quenched the fury in his heart.



CHAPTER XVII

SOMEWHAT OF A MYSTERY

A long, dusty road swept by the bleak wind of a November day. A boy, young man he seemed in his ragged frontier garb, trudged wearily on. The long rifle he carried had a fancifully carved stock, once the pride of a veteran Wyandotte chief.

The lad's face was worn and thin and, by reason of long exposure, almost the colour of an Indian's. "Four miles further to Charlottesville," he said, and threw himself down beside the road as one exhausted. At the sound of a galloping horse he looked up with dull, sullen eyes, into which there came a flash of recognition and he cried, "Nat, old boy!" The horse stopped so quickly his rider narrowly escaped being unhorsed.

"What in thunder are you doing? er—shadder of old black Tom! is it you, Rodney Allison, or your ghost?"

"I feel like a ghost, Angus, and I don't think I'm heavy enough to bother Nat if we ride double back to town. How is mother and 'Omi? and how did you come by Nat? Is the place gone? I feared Denham had the colt."

"Never heard that ghosts could ask questions or I'd sure think ye was one. Ride double? You bet ye can, an' if thar ain't horse enough, I'll walk. Give us yer hand, thar, now I'll answer the rest o' yer questions. The folks are right smart but powerful anxious fer yer dad. Reckon they'd lost hope o' seein' you again."

"Father was killed in the battle at Point Pleasant."

"Yer father killed! An' he thought you was dead. He was a good man, Rodney. Everybody'll be mighty sorry to hear that," and then, words failing, he said no more and in silence they arrived at the Allison home. Angus led the colt to the stable while Rodney entered the house.

Mam saw him first, and for a moment she was almost a white woman. His mother fainted and his little sister ran from him in terror. But why attempt to describe that which words fail to express? Tragedies were not uncommon in the frontier homes of that day in this new land, and wives and mothers were heroines, though the great outside world never was to learn their names and Fame could not record them.