UNDER WOLFE'S FLAG (continued 3)

Once, in descending the rapids of a neighbouring stream, their canoe had struck a rock which capsized her and hurled all the occupants into the boiling surf. This was nothing unusual, but they were expert swimmers, and immediately struck out for the bank. Arrived there, the Young Eagle missed one of his paleface friends. It was Jack, who had struck the rock in falling and was rendered unconscious, and carried away down the stream. The other two, exhausted with their desperate struggle in the rapids, were hardly able to reach the shore; but Young Eagle, arriving there first, and seeing the unfortunate youth being carried away, immediately leapt into the boiling surf, and succeeded, after a desperate struggle, in saving Jack from drowning.

This brave, unselfish act Jack was able to repay the week afterwards, for in pursuing a wounded bear too keenly Young Eagle had the misfortune to lose his footing, and when he attempted to rise the bear was just in the act of tearing him to pieces in its mad wounded frenzy; when Jack, heedless of the danger which he himself ran, rushed into the very "hug" of the wounded bear, and plunged his long hunting-knife into its heart. The bear rolled over upon them both, but the last wound proved fatal, and the huge monster lay still in death.

A dozen incidents of this nature had only cemented the ties which bound these friends together, and the English youths could scarcely bear to think of that near future when they must part from their red brothers, for much as they loved the forest, they felt somehow that their life was not to end here, and their desire to help their country, either on land or sea, during the present war with the French, which, though it had commenced on the continent of Europe, and had been continued on the high seas, had yet had its echo in the forests and backwoods of the North American Colonies, and, indeed, was destined to have its end there.

Once, during the latter part of the summer of the year 1759, they had been absent from their lodges for several weeks, hunting the shaggy brown bear, the jaguar, the fox, and the wolf, for their skins, in that part of the forest which stretched far away from the head waters of their own streams to the Mohawk River, when one afternoon they suddenly struck a fresh trail, which showed the prints of moccasined feet.

"Ugh!" exclaimed the Young Eagle, who was the first to discover them.

"What is the matter? Is it the trail of an enemy or a friend?" demanded Jack. "By your demeanour I should say that you've struck the trail of a serpent."

"I like it not," merely remarked the Indian youth.

All four of them now got down to the work of examining the trail. Every bit of turf, every leaf or broken twig was carefully examined. Then they cautiously followed the trail, with bent figures and cocked rifles. At any moment they might be ambushed, if it should prove to be an enemy that had passed that way.

"Why do you suspect that it is an enemy, when we are so near the hunting-grounds of the Oneidas and the Mohicans?" asked Red Feather.

"Look! This no Iroquois moccasin," said the Young Eagle, stooping to pick up a worn-out, discarded moccasin, worked with beads after the pattern of the French Indians.

They clustered round this piece of evidence, which seemed incontestable, for a rude attempt had been made to work even the Lilies of France on the discarded footgear.

When they had finished their scrutiny of this moccasin, one word broke from all their lips--

"Algonquins!"

But what were the fiends doing here, so far from the River of Canada? And how many of them had come from across the lakes?

These were the questions they set themselves to settle next, as they continued their keen search for any little trifle which might help to explain these things, for to the Indian the forest is an open book, and every twig and leaf may be a written page.

They followed the trail cautiously for another quarter of an hour, until they came to a spot where the footprints showed more deeply in the soft black earth, and after another careful examination, Swift Arrow declared that there were at least fifteen or twenty of the enemy, and that they must be a war party, out for scalps, and to harass the enemies of the Canadas.

"Look! This is not an Algonquin moccasin that has left this mark," said Red Feather, who for some minutes had been examining a footprint that was both broader and longer than the rest, and also of a different pattern. "Here, get down to it, Eagle, and examine it for yourself."

The young chief did as he was requested, and measured the print with the palm of his hand, and compared it with the others.

"You see, the heel mark is deeper than any of the other prints, as though the man had walked like this----" and here Jamie imitated the carriage of a man who plants his heels firmly on the ground when he walks.

"Ugh!" exclaimed the Eagle, rising from the ground. "My paleface brother is right. 'Tis not the moccasin of an Indian at all."

"Not an Indian?"

"No!"

"Who, then, can it be?"

"'Tis the moccasin of a paleface that has left that mark!"

"A paleface?" exclaimed the English youths, raising their voices above a whisper, for the first time since the trail had been discovered.

"Then it must be a French officer who is in command of the party!" and this seemed to all of them the solution of the problem.

The trail was a fresh one, too, and the enemy could not be far away, so they immediately held a council of war, to decide what had best be done. But the sun had set and it was almost dark, and they were compelled to camp in a little bower near by, where the overhanging trees afforded them a secluded spot, not easy for an enemy to find.

They did not light a fire, lest it should discover their position to the enemy. In silence they ate their evening meal, which consisted of a little dried venison. Then they resolved to wait till morning before they followed the trail further.

"Let my paleface brothers sleep, and Young Eagle and Swift Arrow will watch," said the young chief.

"That's not quite fair," said Jamie, "for you'll never wake us till sunrise, and you must be just as much fatigued as we are, for you did more than your share in carrying the canoes at the portage."

"Young Eagle all ears and eyes when an enemy is near. He feels not fatigue. Let my brothers sleep."

The English youths had to give way, for they had to confess that though they had learnt many things during their sojourn amongst the Iroquois, yet their sense of alertness and keenness of perception could in no wise be matched against these children of the forest. Soon, therefore, the young palefaces were fast asleep upon a bed of leaves and spruce branches, unconscious of the dangers that surrounded them.

They had been asleep perhaps for an hour, when the cry of a night-hawk, followed by the howl of a coyote, was heard in the distance. On hearing these the Young Eagle gave a significant look at Swift Arrow, and without speaking a word, the latter arose, quietly pushed aside the branches, and disappeared into the forest in the direction of the sounds.

It was quite dark now, for there was no moon, and the stars showed but faintly through the thick foliage of the trees overhead.

An hour passed--two hours--but the Indian youth returned not. Had he scented danger? Was the enemy lurking near? Then why did he not return? Surely nothing had happened to him. The young chief noticed that Jamie's sleep began to be troubled. Once or twice he had murmured something in his sleep, and Young Eagle had touched his lips, as if to close them, lest the sounds might betray them.

"The Wacondah is speaking to my paleface brother," said the young chief inwardly, "for his sleep is still troubled."

The lad's slumbers were indeed troubled, and yet 'twas only a dream, that he had often dreamt before. His brain had often been puzzled as to why this particular dream should recur to him so often. He dreamt that he was a little bairn again, far away across the Big Salt Lake, in the Homeland; and that a rough but kindly man took him on his knee, and spoke to him in tones of melting tenderness. "Poor motherless bairn!" he said, and the tears rained down his rough face. But the little child, with sunshine in his bonny face, and laughter in his bright blue eyes, crowed and chuckled, and pulled the rough man's beard.

It was at this point that Young Eagle had placed his hand on the lips of his sleeping companion, causing him to start, and to open his eyes for an instant, but he quickly closed them again.

Then his dream continued, but it changed suddenly. Side by side with Jack, and his two dusky companions, he ranged the forest, hunting the bear, and trapping the beaver in his lodges of bark and logs, when suddenly they came upon an Indian camp in a little clearing of the forest, and there with his back to an elm-tree, tied hand and foot, was an old paleface hunter, undergoing torture at the hands of a band of cruel red men.

Bravely he suffered it all, like a hero, and not a cry of pain escaped his lips. A dozen arrows, knives and hatchets pierced the tree about his head and face, and although the coup de grâce had not been given, yet the blood flowed freely from several wounds. His lips were compressed, and not a groan escaped them, but inwardly he prayed to God that death might bring him release from this slow and cruel torture.

A fierce-looking chief taunted him with being a paleface snake, and a Yengeese, and urged his warriors to prolong the torture.

"Let us see if a cursed Yengeese has red blood in his veins, or whether he has the heart of a Delaware," he cried.

"Your tongue is forked, Muskrat, and your warriors tremble at the sight of a paleface, so that their knives cannot find his heart!" cried the hunter, in the hope of urging his enemies to end his torture by a fatal blow.

"My young men wish to know if a Yengeese can bear pain like a red warrior."

"Your young men are squaws! Go tell your Canada Father to find them petticoats!"

This stinging insult brought a shower of tomahawks and knives about his head. One of them pierced his arm, and pinioned it to the tree, but he bore the pain bravely, and smiling grimly back upon his captors, said--

"Let your young men come nearer, chief, so that a paleface may show them where lies his heart, for they are weak and unsteady with the fire-water of the Canadas, and they miss their mark."

The chief lifted up his hand, and said--

"The Great Spirit has given the paleface the heart of a red man, so that he fears not the hatchet and the tomahawk. Let us see if he fears the spirit of the flames."

A shout of hellish delight greeted this suggestion of their leader, and the Indians scattered into the forest to collect brushwood and dead timber, for an Indian delights in prolonging the torture of his prisoner.

Quickly the faggots were piled at the feet of the hunter, and the match was about to be applied, when the intense agony and suspense of the moment burst open the gates of slumber, and Jamie opened his eyes, and awoke suddenly.

The first faint tinge of dawn was lighting up the eastern horizon. He sprang to his feet, immensely relieved, and murmuring to himself--

"Thank God! 'Twas only a dream, then! And yet it was the same face that I have seen so often in my dreams. What can it mean?"

Then he turned and beheld the Young Eagle and the sleeping form of Black Hawk, but Swift Arrow was missing. He forgot his troubled sleep in an instant when he remembered that Young Eagle had watched with sleepless vigilance throughout the whole night, and said--

"My red brother is too kind. He should have called me, and let me watch, while he slept."

"Hist!" remarked the other, rising suddenly, and holding up a finger to indicate silence, as a slight rustle was heard amongst the bushes a few yards away. Both instinctively grasped their rifles, and stood ready for whatever foe might suddenly appear.

The branches parted, and Swift Arrow stepped quietly into the opening. This brave youth had spent the night in the forest, sometimes lying still as a log, at other times crawling and wriggling like a snake, or crouching like a panther. He had discovered the scouts of a cruel enemy, within ten arrow-flights of their present abode. He had done more.

He had succeeded in passing the scouts unobserved, and in penetrating to the very edge of the hostile camp. His unsleeping vigilance had saved the lives of his comrades, and he had even covered up his own tracks in returning to the camp, by taking a circuitous route and wading for some distance in the bed of a little stream, and had so well timed his efforts that he reached the camping-ground just as dawn was breaking.

Beyond the customary "Ugh!" he remained silent; though even Jack, who had now awakened, could see that he had something of importance to communicate, but he seemed already possessed of all the restraint of his tribe, and quietly sat down with the rest to a breakfast, which consisted of a little pemmican and hominy, which was soon finished.

"My brother has seen an enemy?" said Young Eagle, when the meal was over.

"Ugh!" replied Swift Arrow, as though he considered the news of little importance and scarcely worth the telling.

"Swift Arrow will tell us what he has seen?" said Jack, and then the young warrior spoke briefly and as follows--

"Ten arrow-flights towards the sun-rising is an Algonquin camp, of twenty-four braves--and one prisoner...."

"And the prisoner? Who--what is he?" asked Jamie, remembering his dream.

"It is the great paleface hunter, the friend of White Eagle."

CHAPTER XIV

SWIFT ARROW DISAPPEARS

"The paleface hunter, did my brother say? Is he the prisoner?" exclaimed Jamie, leaping to his feet, trembling with suppressed excitement.

"Hist! my brother forgets that an enemy is near!" said Young Eagle, raising his finger to request caution.

At this moment, after several cabalistic signs, Swift Arrow left the camp and quietly disappeared in the forest, and Jamie, expressing regret at permitting his feelings to gain the mastery over him at such a moment, resumed his seat on the ground.

"Whither away, Swift Arrow?" called Jack softly, as the Indian youth glided past him, but he either did not hear him, or heeded not his question.

"Swift Arrow has gone to the wigwams of the White Eagle, to say that his friend is in the hands of the Algonquins," said the Young Eagle, who had now assumed all the gravity and demeanour of an Iroquois chief.

"Phew! That means a journey of sixty miles at least. Rather a long step for a lad, who hunted all day yesterday and scouted all last night. When will he get there?"

"When the sun touches the tree-tops to-morrow White Eagle will know!" replied the young chief.

"Then he will come with all the warriors who are not away hunting, and fight the Algonquins?" asked Jamie.

"Ugh!" said the Indian, signifying yes.

"Perhaps that may be too late to save the paleface. I fear they will have put him to death," said Jamie gloomily. "Cannot we go and save him now?"

"Why, what's the matter, old chap? You seem very despondent," said Jack, as his comrade heaved a sigh deep enough to break his heart. "Do you despair of your life, that you want to throw it away so cheaply? If we are discovered by yonder crew, our lives are not worth a toss, and our scalps will be carried to the Canada lodges."

"The Wacondah has spoken to my brother, and his heart is heavy," said the Indian, looking straight at Red Feather with his piercing eyes.

"What is it, Jamie? Out with it. We agreed that there should be no secrets between us," said Jack, half in jest and half in earnest.

"Jack," said his friend solemnly, "I dreamt last night that I saw this paleface hunter in the clutches of the Algonquins. He was bound to a tree, and they were practising upon him every conceivable torture that even a red devil can invent. I saw him pierced and wounded, and the blood flowing freely from his head and face. Then, having tormented him to the utmost bounds, and finding that his brave heart quailed not beneath it all, they brought faggots and brushwood and kindled them at his feet. They were going to burn him to death, yes, roast him alive, while they danced around him in mad delight. But just as they kindled the fire, and my heart was bursting with grief and agony, because I was unable to help, I awoke, for I could bear it no longer. Then Swift Arrow returned and told what he himself had seen, but I believe that I saw even more than he did, for he saw not the tortures--and--and--I fear that we shall be too late when the chief arrives with his braves. That is why I wished to go straight to the camp now, and what is more, the face of that hunter is as familiar to me as your own, that is by night, for I have often dreamt of him before, but by daylight his features become indistinct, and I cannot recall his face. So now that is why my heart is so heavy! Cannot we do anything to save him?"

This last question was addressed to the young chief, who had been a serious listener to all that Jamie had just said, for the Indians take dreams very seriously, and treat them as messages from the Manitou.

"The Grey Badger is a great hunter, and his rifle has often left its mark upon the Algonquins, as well as the bear and the panther. Red men no kill him quickly. He is too great a prize. They will keep him till the new moon, and then kill him," replied the Indian.

"When is the new moon?" asked Red Feather hastily.

"Two days!"

"And when will our friends arrive?"

The young chief made the circle of the sun's course twice, and then pointed to the zenith.

"Then there is just a chance that we may be able to save him after all."

"Yes. For why should the Wacondah speak a lie?" said the Indian earnestly.

"What do you mean? I don't understand you!"

"Why, Jamie, it's as clear as noon-day what he means. He says, 'Why should the Wacondah speak a lie?' That is, if the Great Spirit has put it into your heart to save this paleface hunter, why should he withhold the means to do it, when He is all-powerful? The lad's faith in his God is greater than your own. So cheer up, and we'll save him yet, or we'll know the reason why."

"Young Eagle, I thank you. You have lifted a load from my heart, and your faith is greater than mine, though I have been bred in a Christian country," said Jamie.

"Ugh! My paleface brother has often told me of the sacred writings in the land of the sun-rising, and how the Great Spirit has spoken to his white children; why, then, should he disbelieve the words of the Wacondah?"

This conversation was suddenly interrupted by an Indian whoop, which seemed to come from the distant camp.

"What can that mean? Listen! There it comes again," said Jack. This time it was repeated from several quarters.

"It simply means that they have been joined by another party of their friends," said the Indian.

"What can they be doing so far away from their own hunting-grounds?"

"Depend upon it, they are here for no good. They're out for scalps, and to harass their inveterate foes, the Iroquois, and any Yengeese woodsmen they can lay hands upon."

"Must we remain here, like rats in a hole, Young Eagle? Is there nothing that we can do?" said Jack.

"Yes! We must watch all their movements, and if they move, follow them, leaving a broad trail that White Eagle can follow in the dark."

"Lead the way, then, Eagle, and we'll follow your trail."

Then they crept stealthily from their lair, and cautiously advanced through the tangled forest, in the direction of the camp, for now that the enemy were excited by the arrival of their allies perhaps they would be a little off their guard.

Soon they struck the trail that they had seen on the previous evening, and followed it carefully; sometimes creeping on their hands and knees, crawling through the brushwood, watching furtively the while for any signs of the outlying scouts who were sure to be guarding the camp.

Suddenly the hiss of a serpent caused them to start. It came from the direction of the young Indian, who was but a few paces in advance, and was the signal for them to halt and lie still. Immediately they became as dead logs, hugging the ground.

Had the Eagle seen the first scout?

Yes, surely! What was that dark object creeping through the forest, not fifty yards away? Was it not the skulking form of a redskin prowling about like a wolf, and all the while coming nearer and nearer. He had evidently not seen them as yet, for he still continued to approach, but he seemed so wary and so alert that if he continued he must discover them within another minute. Jamie covered him with his rifle, but he was too wise to shoot, unless all other measures failed, as the crack of a rifle so near the camp would alarm the whole party and bring the Algonquins upon them in a moment.

Slowly, slowly the seconds passed, and each one seemed in itself an age. They scarcely dared to breathe, lest the slightest sound or movement should attract the attention of the scout.

He was only ten paces from the young chief when he halted, as though his suspicions had been aroused. He was looking full in the direction of his enemies, when some fluttering object in a bush, near the Iroquois lad, caught his attention. He would examine that particular bush before giving the alarm, so he advanced cautiously, looking warily around him.

He was a young warrior, perhaps out for his first scalp. How kingly it would be to return to the camp with a scalp at his girdle, and without boasting, quietly to take his place at the council fire, while all eyes were fixed upon that trophy which he had won, unaided and alone.

The dark-eyed Indian maidens, too--how they would glance at him with love-lit eyes and point out the trophy, and sing of his courage when he returned home. Perhaps these thoughts were in his mind as he approached the bush. One thing, however, he must avoid, that was, creating a false alarm and thereby making himself a laughing-stock amongst his comrades by mistaking a tree or a log for an enemy.

This temerity cost him dear. To reach the bush which had aroused his suspicions, he had to pass within a few feet of Young Eagle. As he did so, the latter made a sudden bound, like a panther springing upon his prey, and cleft his skull with his keen hatchet.

Without a groan even, the Algonquin sank to the ground, and his spirit passed to the hunting-grounds of his people. The youths turned their faces away, whilst the young chief secured his first scalp. Having obtained this trophy, he next dragged the lifeless form of the scout into the forest and hid it away amongst the bushes, lest its discovery should bring down upon them a swarm of hornets, in the shape of the inmates of the neighbouring camp. Then he proudly retraced his steps in the direction of his companions, who were eagerly awaiting his return.

"Was it well done, Young Eagle, to risk all our lives and our chances of saving the hunter for a single scalp?" asked Jamie, who felt somehow that his redskin friend might have left the scalp alone, for the present, at any rate, forgetting in his anxiety to save the paleface that an Indian will go without food willingly for a whole week in order to obtain one scalp.

"Young Eagle is a warrior! He saw only an Algonquin dog!"

"But prudence is a virtue, even in a great warrior!"

"Let him alone, Jamie. For an Indian to leave an enemy's scalp behind is a disgrace, and just as dishonourable as for a paleface to leave his ensign in the hands of the enemy," said Jack.

Their present position was one of great danger, though for the moment the death of the scout had reduced the chances of their being discovered. Nevertheless, their only chance to avoid the enemy was to find a spot where they could lie hidden till dark, for the scout would be sure to be missed shortly, and then a search would be made for him.

A spot was found not twenty yards away, on the edge of a little rivulet that ran through the forest. They, therefore, took a circuitous route to this stream, and then walked cautiously down the bed of the rivulet, so that the water would wash away their footprints in the sandy bottom. Having gained this secluded spot, they were hidden from sight of an approaching enemy, owing to the branches of the willows and alders drooping to the ground and meeting the tangled undergrowth, and they could yet watch the surrounding forest through the interstices of the branches.

Here they lay hidden during the rest of that day. As the afternoon wore on they several times heard the whoops and yells of the Algonquins, and once they heard the report of a rifle, and Jamie feared that it denoted the end of the paleface prisoner, but the young chief said that that was very unlikely.

This close confinement at length became very irksome, and the youths were so wearied and impatient that it needed all the influence and sagacity of the Indian to urge them to remain till sunset. How wise this counsel was will shortly be seen.

"Hist! What does that mean, Young Eagle?" said Jamie, when rather late in the afternoon a sound very much like the "cawing" of a rook was heard to proceed from a spot scarce a hundred yards away. No answer was given, and the sound was repeated twice; each time it sounded a little nearer.

The Indian did not speak, for he was keenly scrutinising the forest in the direction of the sound, and at the same time unconsciously fingering his tomahawk, while his every sense seemed alert.

"'Tis another scout who seems to expect a reply from his fallen comrade, I fear, Jamie," said Jack, "and he can't understand why he gets no answer."

"Ah! He is becoming suspicious. He is searching for him, and--and--he's coming this way," whispered Jamie.

"Look! I can see him now through the trees. What if he finds his dead comrade? Hist! He's looking this way."

Nearer and nearer came the Algonquin. He was within forty yards now, and within twenty feet of where his companion had been slain. Suddenly he started and a half-smothered exclamation escaped his lips. He was looking at the ground, examining it carefully. He knelt down and carefully removed the turf and leaves, raising his head every few seconds, as though expecting to see his comrade.

Had he discovered a trail, or something worse? He was only thirty feet away from the mangled corpse of the first scout. He was only ten feet away from the spot where the death-blow had been given. It was the trail of his lost comrade that he had discovered, but what next?

It was a moment fraught with intense excitement for the watchers. The issues to these three adventurers were life or death. Once he discovered the truth that was hidden in those bushes, a single call for assistance would fill the forest with blood-thirsty hornets, and all would be lost.

What could be done? He was too far away to be dispatched like his comrade, and a rifle-shot would alarm the camp. Step by step he advanced. Then his eager eyes caught sight of the fresh blood-marks and evidences of the recent scuffle.

The Indian gazed at the red spots, and followed their trail to the bushes. Then, as his eyes caught sight of the mangled corpse, he uttered a blood-curdling yell that made the dark aisles of the forest resound. At the same instant Jamie's rifle spoke out, and the Indian fell to the ground.

Five seconds had scarcely passed when from the camp there came the answering yell. It was a wild, fierce cry of revenge that brought the whole pack upon their trail.

CHAPTER XV

THE TRAGIC CIRCLE

There was not a moment to lose. The two youths seized their rifles and plunged into the forest.

"This way, Jack. Come!"

"Lead on, quickly!"

Young Eagle remained but a few seconds to take the victim's scalp and to give the defiant war-whoop of the Iroquois, and then he, too, followed in their trail.

On they went. Their only chance of saving their lives now lay in putting as great a distance as possible between themselves and their pursuers, and in keeping up the race till dusk. 'Twas getting dark already, but they stumbled on through the tangled undergrowth, over fallen trunks lying prostrate across their pathway.

Several times they heard the yells of the Algonquins, and once they heard the crack of a rifle, followed by an Iroquois yell.

"Listen! That's Young Eagle's rifle, I'll swear. He's either missed our trail, or he's purposely misled them to give us a chance of getting away."

"Then I fear it's all up with him," cried Jamie, who was a little way in advance. "That second scalp has cost him too dear."

'Twas getting quite dark now, and they were compelled to slacken their pace, partly from sheer exhaustion, and partly because they were constantly being tripped up by ground vines, trailers and fallen trunks.

Once they got separated, and Jamie thought that he heard Jack call him. He halted and listened, but hearing the swish of branches close behind him he thought that his comrade was following, and continued for another ten minutes, when, coming to a little clearing, he glanced back, but saw no one following.

"Jack!" he called softly. "Where are you?" but no answer came back from the gloom.

Again he called--louder still, but only the cry of the night-raven and the screech of an owl gave reply. Then he retraced his footsteps across the clearing, but he failed even to discover the spot where he had left the forest. Five--ten minutes he remained there, searching for his own trail, but in the darkness he had lost his bearings, and not only Jack, but he himself was lost!--lost!

Endless leagues of trackless forest, of brown tree-trunks, and dark, dank undergrowth, closing in upon him like a thick screen, separated him from the nearest habitation, and even the nearest fort. What was to become of him?

In his despair he threw himself down upon a rough, raised bank that ran part way round the clearing; then he remembered that fancied cry, back there by the swamp, when he had thought for an instant that Jack had called him by name.

"'Twas not fancy, after all!" he murmured. "It was Jack calling for help; it must have been. Perhaps he sank in the swamp, or perhaps the Indians attacked him from the rear suddenly and quietly and he died calling my name."

Then the agony of his soul knew no bounds, for he felt that he had wilfully deserted his comrade, and in his despair he longed to die.

"Ah--to die! That would be easy, if only Jack were here. We have too often faced death together to be afraid, but this wild loneliness unmans me," and here the lad broke down and sobbed in his bitterness.

This weakness, if such it can be called, was of short duration, however, for certain sounds fell upon his ear in the stillness, that told him something or somebody was approaching. A rustling amongst the branches, a heavy but stealthy tread amongst the tangled undergrowth. All this came from the forest not fifty feet away.

There was just enough light to see half-way across the small clearing. His every faculty became alert, and he instinctively raised his rifle, examined its priming, and fixed his eyes at that spot where the object must leave the forest to enter the clearing.

Perhaps it was Jack--at last. Should he call? Better wait and see. Perhaps it was an Indian, though the footfall seemed too heavy. What could it be?

The next instant a shaggy head was thrust out from amongst the bushes, scarce twenty feet away from where he sat, and then a huge brown bear shambled into the clearing, stopping every few yards to raise his snout, and to sniff the air, as though it scented danger.

Jamie's left hand slid down, almost unconsciously, to feel if his hunting-knife were there, lest his rifle should fail him. The bear caught the movement, quick as it was, and looked suspiciously in the direction of the youth.

Having reached the middle of the clearing, the huge monster reared itself up on its hind legs, and beating the air with its fore-paws, began to advance in the direction of Jamie.

Jamie forgot every other danger in the face of this new one that now threatened. He forgot also all his fears, in his desire to overcome the bear. 'Twas to be a fair fight and no favour, and unless he killed "Bruin," then the beast would kill him.

With steady eye and steady nerve Jamie levelled his rifle, as the bear shambled towards him, uttering a low growl, and preparing to hug his victim in a fatal embrace. The youth knew the vulnerable spot in that thick, shaggy hide, and if he could only place his bullet there it would end the combat, but on a dark night like this could he do it?

He was about to pull the trigger when a strange diversion, entirely unexpected, occurred.

A plumed and painted warrior, from the Algonquin camp, hot upon the trail of the young paleface, quickly entered the clearing and almost rushed into the embrace of the huge monster. Discovering his mistake, and uttering a sudden exclamation of horror, the warrior fell back in dismay, and dashed into the forest, followed by Bruin, who left his erstwhile enemy and suffered him to escape. The branches closed upon the bear and the Indian, and they were hidden from sight.

"Thank God I didn't fire!" exclaimed Jamie, as he slipped quietly into the forest in another direction, thanking Heaven for this double escape, and taking hope, for he felt that God had not deserted him, and would somehow deliver him from his still terrible plight.

On he stumbled in the darkness, till he came to a little stream. Here he stooped to quench his burning thirst and to bathe his face, for he was fevered with excitement, after the quick transitions of feeling he had undergone since they alarmed the camp.

Then he followed the path of the brook some little way, hiding the trail of his moccasins in the bed of the stream, for unlike the soft, oozy mould of the forest the water yields no secret. Then, after a while, he struck into the forest again. Forward he went, lest the murdering Algonquins should discover his trail once more, and a tomahawk end his career. Once or twice he thought he heard the stealthy tread of an Indian behind him, but he stayed not in his fierce flight.

The moon was rising now, and it was becoming much lighter, and Jamie was able to make more rapid progress; but he was becoming exhausted, and felt that he must stop soon, when suddenly he noticed that the giant pines and firs were becoming fewer and fewer, and the undergrowth less tangled.

A tiny red glow--the glow of a camp-fire, appeared through the trees, and the next moment he halted breathlessly on the outskirts of a deserted camp.

Now at length help is at hand, he thought, and he prepared to enter the place.

Horror of horrors! It was the same camp from which he had so blindly fled two hours before. Some malevolent deity had led his bewildered footsteps in a tragic circle, a mistake not uncommon, even for experienced travellers, who crossed the forest hastily, and without due precaution.

Where was now the Providence that had guided his footsteps? He almost cursed his ill-luck and his bad fortune, and yet, as kindly fate would have it, this was the best thing that could have happened to him.

He had indeed been guided by Providence, for while both Jack and Young Eagle had been made prisoners, Jamie, by walking up the watercourse, and unconsciously doubling back upon the deserted camp, had thrown even the quick-witted Algonquins off the scent, who never suspected such cunning in a paleface.

I have said that the camp was deserted, although the fire still burned, and the evening meal remained untouched, for at the first sound of that fatal cry from the woods every inmate of the camp, except the paleface prisoner, started in pursuit of the daring enemy who had scalped their warrior. In this sudden call to arms the prisoner was for a while forgotten, as we shall shortly see.

Jamie's heart sank with dismay as he beheld the fatal error he had made. Wearied and exhausted, he was ready to sink and perish, but even thus a new feeling of terror seized him, the terror of the returning Algonquins. What if they discovered him here?

Once more he plunged into the thicket, for a strange new strength had come to him, but it was the strength of despair, occasioned by fear.

Torn, lacerated and bleeding, his hair dishevelled, and his clothes in tatters, he rushed madly away from the spot. Whither he went he cared not. Anywhere--away from that terrible camp. He rushed blindly on, until at the end of half-an-hour he sank down, utterly exhausted, beneath the friendly shelter of an elm-tree, and careless now whether the wild beasts or the Algonquins tracked him to his doom.

His brain reeled; his heart beat wildly, and he swooned away rather than sank into sleep; but soon his breathing became more regular, and his slumber more peaceful.

The moon rose above the topmost branches, climbed to the meridian, and sank once more amongst the pines. Then the golden orb of day unbarred his eastern shutters, tinged the far horizon with saffron and yellow, and flooded the landscape of forest, and river, and lake, with gold, but still the youth slept on. Would he never awake?

At length, when the sun was high above the tree-tops, Jamie stretched himself, then opened his eyes. As he did so his first gaze fell upon a man, somewhat past middle-age, but still strong and sturdy. He was in the garb of a hunter, for he wore a hair-fringed hunting-shirt, moccasins, and Indian leggings, while on his head was a beaver cap.

Jamie started, but felt relieved when he saw it was no redskin that bent over him.

This man sat upon a fallen tree-trunk, against which leaned his rifle also. His arms were folded across his broad chest, and while he vigorously puffed wreaths of smoke from his pipe, he was complacently looking at the lad, as though he had been keeping watch.

"The same face----" murmured Jamie. "It is--it must be--the great paleface hunter!"

CHAPTER XVI

THE PALEFACE HUNTER

Jamie half rose from the ground, rubbed his eyes, and appeared surprised and mystified at this unexpected turn of events.

"Am I still dreaming?" he wondered. "I have seen this man many a time in my dreams, but never, to my knowledge, have I seen him before in the flesh. Who can he be, that he thus haunts me, asleep and awake?"

"So you've woke up at last, youngster! I was beginning to fear that you might never wake again," said the stranger, in a kindly and not unfamiliar voice that awoke the echoes of memory.

"Then you've been watching over me? Guarding me, perhaps, whilst I slept?"

The stranger nodded assent.

"Who are you? Tell me your name, that I may thank you, for friends are not too numerous hereabouts, and I have already lost two comrades since I came on this trail. Tell me who you are, if you please?" for the lad saw by the stranger's kindly manner, his honest, sunburnt face, and his clear but piercing eyes, that he was no enemy.

"My real name doesn't matter, my lad, though I am well known in these parts, for the Indians on this side the lakes know me for a trapper, and they call me the 'Paleface Hunter,' and sometimes the 'Grey Badger.'

"But how came you here?"

"This is my home--this forest! I have lived here for fifteen years," said the trapper, indicating the wide stretch of forest land with a broad sweep of his hand.

"And how did you happen to find me, just when I needed a friend, too? When I sank down last night I never expected to see the light of another sun."

"I stumbled across you here at dawn. You were fast asleep, and I saw by your torn clothes and the scratches and flesh wounds on your hands and face that the Indians had been hot on your trail. I half feared to find your scalp-lock missing, but when I examined you I found that you were living, but so exhausted and dead-beat that to wake you up might finish you, so I just carried you in here, covered up your trail, and waited for you to awake."

"And for four hours," replied Jamie softly, and with tears in his voice--"for four hours, since dawn, you have watched over me like a child in a cradle, though any moment the Algonquins might have discovered your trail."

"Tut! tut! my lad! That's nothing----"

"Paleface--if I may so call you--you have saved my life, and I thank you with all my heart, though last night, when I lost my best friend, I cursed my fate and wished to die."

"'Tis more likely you who have saved my life."

"How so?"

"Was it you who fired that shot last evening just before sunset?"

"Which shot?"

"The one that alarmed the camp!";

"You mean when the scout was----"

"Scalped."

"Yes, I fired it."

"Who took the scalp? I reckon that is not your gift, my lad."

Jamie shuddered at the remembrance, and said, "No. I should hope not."

"Then you were not alone? Who was the redskin that was with you?"

"An Iroquois youth, named 'Young Eagle.'"

"The son of White Eagle, the great chief?"

"The same. There was another also--a young paleface friend of mine. We lost each other in the forest, after dark, when the redskins were hot on our trail. After that I missed my way, and wandered back to the camp in mistake. Then, filled with terror and despair, I plunged madly back into the forest, until I sank exhausted, where you found me; but tell me, trapper, how did I save your life? for 'tis all a mystery to me."

"When you fired that shot at sunset, I was in a tight corner, for I was a prisoner in the Algonquin camp. Red Wolf, the Algonquin chief, is a great enemy of mine. Long he has tried to trap me, but I have always been able to circumvent him. This time he took me unawares. He and six of his braves pounced upon me suddenly in the forest three days ago, when I was splitting a few logs for my fire, and before I had a chance to defend myself I was tied up."

"And they tortured you, did they not?" asked Jamie.

"See here what the fiends did!" and the hunter showed a dozen scars and open wounds that had not yet healed.

"The monsters! How did you escape?"

"You know their custom of torturing their prisoners from sunset till dawn."

"Yes."

"Well, after all this they made a fire, and after a few more tortures I believe the varmint would have burnt me to death, for one fiend had made an iron red-hot, with which to sear and brand me, when suddenly the half-uttered yell of their scout, followed by the crack of your rifle, burst upon their ears."

"Yes! yes! What happened then?" asked Jamie impatiently.

"Why, every man Jack of them seized their rifles and tomahawks, and bolted out of the camp to the help of the scout, leaving me alone, bound hand and foot to a tree."

"And how did you free yourself?"

"Why, the scamp who had been threatening to brand me, when he bolted with the rest, dropped the hot iron at my feet, so that it burnt this hole in my moccasin. See here. The opportunity was too good to be lost, so I wriggled and shuffled my feet till the iron came in contact with the lowest thong. It was burnt through in less than a minute, and in another five minutes I was free."

"That was worthy of a trapper and a frontiersman. The implement of torture was a blessing in disguise."

"I didn't remain long in the camp, I can tell you, for at any moment the redskins might have returned, and there is no doubt that they would have scalped me on the spot, in revenge for what the Young Eagle had done. I was unable to walk for a few minutes, so tightly had they bound me; but I rubbed and chafed my limbs till the circulation was restored, and then I seized my rifle and knife and walked off. At dawn I stumbled across you, and--here we are; a match for a dozen Indians yet, let them come when they will," and the trapper laughed silently.

"Paleface, I'm glad to have met you," said Jamie, rising from the ground and extending his hand to his new friend. "I have had so many unhappy experiences during the past twenty-four hours, that I had begun to doubt the Providence which has delivered me so often, but I shall never doubt again, for God has never failed me yet."

There was something very much like a tear that trickled down the rough face of the trapper as he grasped the extended hand and said, in quiet but earnest tones--

"He never will fail you--if you trust Him."

"If only my two comrades were alive I should be the happiest creature in all this wide forest."

"They are both alive."

"What!" exclaimed the lad. "Both alive? How do you know that?"

"Before dawn I heard the Indians return to camp, and their yells of triumph told me that they had either brought in prisoners or scalps. Being anxious to know whether their prisoners were Indians or Yengeese, I crept back again to the edge of the camp."

"Indeed!" interposed Jamie, interrupting the narrative. "Weren't you afraid of being captured again?"

"Tut! tut! He'll be a smart Indian who can catch an old trapper twice."

"Well, what did you discover?"

"Before I reached the spot I heard a fierce yell of anger. That I knew to be caused by the discovery that I had escaped. When at last I reached a little rising ground overlooking the camp, where the shrub was very thick, I saw two prisoners tied to the self-same tree to which I had been tied but a few hours before."

"What were they like?"

"One was an Indian youth. I knew him at once. He was the eldest son of White Eagle, and the other was a stranger to me. He was a paleface in the garb of an Indian hunter, and he must have been your companion. This only I discovered, for my stay was a brief one, and the reason why I have remained in the vicinity of the Algonquins is because I have been hopeful that an opportunity will occur to save them, else they will either be tortured to death, or carried to the Canada lodges."

"You fill me with joy and with hope, trapper. We must and will save them! Nothing shall prevent us!" exclaimed Jamie, who was overjoyed at this good news.

"If only we had White Eagle and twenty of his Iroquois braves here we might do something, before it is too late."

"White Eagle will be here with some of his warriors by noon to-morrow," replied the lad.

"What's that you say? Who has gone for him?"

"Swift Arrow. We dispatched him at dawn yesterday, as soon as we found that you were a prisoner." And then Jamie told the old man all he knew--how they had struck the trail of the Algonquins, how the Indian lad had scouted all night, and had crept up to the enemy's camp, and reported that they held as a prisoner a great paleface hunter, who was the friend of White Eagle, and how Swift Arrow had departed for assistance. He told all, except his dream.

The hunter was bewildered when he heard all this, but merely remarked--

"Swift Arrow. I know the lad. He has the swiftest foot in all the Six Nations, and he will bring the warriors back, but whether they will arrive in time is another matter. And now there is something for us to do."

"What can we do, trapper? Speak, for I am ready. Inaction alone is inglorious, while my comrades are in the hands of those fiends. What can we do?"

"We must hold the trail till the chief comes up. The Algonquins are pretty sure to clear off quickly, for they are in the hunting-grounds of the Iroquois, and my escape will have hurried their departure. Probably they are already preparing to move. Let us go. But stay, you are famished, and cannot stand a long journey. We must have breakfast, and then we will hasten, lest the game should slip through our hands."

They made a hasty breakfast of some dried venison and half-cooked hominy, which the trapper bad snatched from a cooking-pot when he hurried away from the deserted camp; then feeling much refreshed by this rude but welcome meal, they shouldered their rifles and departed in the direction of the camp.

They cautiously continued their way through the forest, sometimes wading in narrow streams in order to hide their trail; sometimes crawling on all fours through the dense undergrowth, till they reached the outskirts of the camp.

Not a word was spoken during this tedious journey, which took upwards of an hour, lest a solitary sentinel should discover their approach. Once, indeed, they passed within a hundred feet of a scout, without even raising his suspicions. At length they paused for a moment to rest at the bottom of a little densely-wooded hillock, scarce an arrow-flight from the camp. They were entirely hidden in the thick shrub, and were so close to the enemy that they could hear the voices of the Indians, and see the blue smoke curling up from their fire, though the fire itself they could not see, because of the little brow or hillock that intervened.

Then they crawled from their hiding-place, through the brush to the top of the brow, and looked down upon the encampment. They doffed their beaver caps, and only permitted their eyes to peep for an instant at the scene below, lest the sharp glance of a warrior should chance to see them, but what a thrill came to Jamie's heart!

Thirty or forty braves were standing or lying about, some of them in little groups occasionally pointing to the forest. Others were examining their rifles and knives, as though expecting to be attacked. A few were hanging over the remains of a feast, the remnants of a deer. But what remained longest in Jamie's memory, during that brief glance, and excited his feelings most, was the sight of his two comrades bound to a huge tree near the middle of the camp. Whether they had already suffered torture or not, or were merely waiting helplessly until such time as pleased their captors to commence their vile and fiendish practices, he knew not; but his own feelings were roused to such a pitch of fury by the sight that it needed all his strength of will to command his feelings, and to restrain his desire to rush forward and liberate the prisoners.

Just at that moment a hand was placed upon his shoulder, and a voice whispered--

"Come!"

He turned and followed the trapper quietly until they were once more ensconced in their late hiding-place.

They were not a moment too soon, for scarcely had they hidden themselves when a scout came along, peering amongst the trees and bushes, as though expecting to find an enemy behind every cover. Suddenly he stopped almost opposite to them, and looked suspiciously at the ground.

Something unusual had evidently attracted his attention. What was it? He was within a few feet of their trail. Had he discovered it? It was a critical moment for the two palefaces. A single movement, however slight, would betray them. It was dangerous to breathe even, or to stir an inch, for the crackling of a twig would have been fatal. Their very lives hung on a slender thread.

CHAPTER XVII

A BROKEN SCALPING-KNIFE

It was a period of awful suspense, and the two palefaces held their breath for a moment as they watched the scout keenly.

What was it that had attracted the attention of the Algonquin?

He stooped down and picked up something that lay upon the ground. It was a broken scalping-knife that had evidently been dropped or lost in some scuffle long, long ago, for it was thick with rust. He gazed at it for some seconds, turning it round, then flung it away into the forest. The next instant he ascended the hillock and disappeared, entering the camp.

Fortune had once more favoured Jamie and his friend, for the discovery of the scalping-knife had both arrested and deflected the course of the scout, when he was only a few feet away from the fresh trail of the two palefaces. Had he continued on his original course, he could scarcely have failed to discover the prints of their moccasins, and a very awkward situation would have arisen. The alarm once given, fifty braves would have been upon them within a minute.

The sound of voices now reached them more frequently, and it was evident from the commotion that was going on that some movement was imminent. Once the piercing cry of the hawk was heard to come from over the hillock.

"They're moving the camp, and that's the signal for the scouts to draw in. They'll be gone in half-an-hour," whispered the hunter.

"Hadn't we better prepare to follow?" said Jamie.

"No. We shall gain nothing by being too eager. Besides, we have still got several incoming scouts in our rear. We must keep closely to cover till they have passed."

This precaution was a very necessary one, for within half-an-hour no less than three scouts passed within a hundred yards of them, each going in the direction of the camp.

Another hour passed away, and the sounds they had previously heard became fainter and then died away. At length the trapper rose from his crouching position in the brushwood and said--

"Let us go!"

They now crept carefully through the long grass that partially clothed the hillock, until they could peer over the brow and obtain a view of the camp.

The place was deserted, for the Indians had gone and taken their prisoners with them. The fire was still burning, and several half-cooked pieces of venison and bear's flesh lay about, also several broken utensils and a pair of cast-off moccasins.

"Whither have they gone, think you?" asked Jamie.

"Back to the Canadas, and we must follow them."

"They cannot have killed their prisoners, then, or we should have heard them, and there would have been traces of blood."

"See. Here is the tree to which they were tied. The thongs have been so tight that they have cut into the bark."

"Yes. That means that they will have to travel slowly, unless they kill their prisoners, for they will scarcely be able to walk fast yet awhile."

The trapper looked anxiously up at the sun, which was now declining, and had reached the topmost branches of the trees on the western side of the forest; then he proceeded to examine the prints of the Algonquin moccasins, following them a little way into the forest for the purpose, while Jamie still examined the ground about the root of the giant elm-tree to see if he could find traces of blood.

There were several spots of blood about the tree and several splashes of it on the bark. There were also many deep cuts and gashes, and an arrow still remained fast in the wood about six feet from the ground, as though they had practised the same cruelties upon the lads that they had essayed upon the hunter.

"Only to think," muttered Jamie between his teeth, "that an hour ago both Jack and Young Eagle were tied up here, expecting a cruel and lingering death from their captors. What were their thoughts? Oh, if they could only have known that help was so near! Hullo! Where is the trapper? He has disappeared!" and the lad was suddenly awakened from his reverie by becoming conscious that the hunter was nowhere to be seen.

After a few minutes' search he found the old man some little way in the forest, examining very keenly the trail of the Algonquins.

"Well, what do you make of it?" he asked.

The trapper still continued for another minute to examine the prints of the departing redskins, and then he said, speaking very slowly as though he had come to his conclusion only after much thought--

"They are making tracks for one of the streams that flows into Lake Seneca, where they have probably left their canoes hidden in the forest; then they will pass down the lake to the Seneca River, and from thence into Lake Ontario and thus to the Canadas."

"Then what chance shall we have of recovering the prisoners? Where can we overtake them?"

"Not till we reach the Seneca Falls, I fear," replied the trapper. "Some distance below the outlet of the lake there is a portage past the Falls where they must land to carry their canoes to the river below. That is the spot where we must surprise them. By that time the Eagle will be with us and some of his braves."

"That sounds all right, but what about the prisoners? I had hoped that something might have been done to rescue them before then," said Jamie.

"The lads are safe for another three days, at any rate, unless they attempt to escape, for it now seems more than likely that they are to be carried off to the Canadas."

"What is that picture that you are drawing, trapper?" for the old hunter had stripped a large piece of bark from a birch-tree, and on the inner side had begun to draw a few rough pictures. It contained a cryptic message in the Indian style of "picture-writing," by which these children of the forest spoke to each other at a distance.

It depicted the whole length of Lake Seneca, and the Falls in the river below, then a badger and a feather, representing the Grey Badger and Red Feather following up a trail, while a few wigwams ahead represented the departing Algonquins. Next a White Eagle making a swift curve towards the Falls completed the picture, and the message was complete.

"It is a message to the White Eagle, to ask him to make direct for the Falls and there to prepare an ambush for the foes," replied the trapper.

"Capital! He'll understand that, easily enough, when he reaches here at noon to-morrow."

"Yes. The meaning will be as plain as a pikestaff when he sees it. He'll probably be at the Falls long before us, for he'll travel day and night when he scents the game he's after. And now let us start, while the trail is warm."

The piece of bark was fastened to a tree, and they departed quickly. Night soon overtook them, and they camped for a brief while in the forest. A drink of water and a piece of bear's flesh, which they had brought from the Algonquin camp, sufficed for supper, and then they lay down to sleep, but Jamie thought that he had only just closed his eyelids when a hand was laid on his shoulder and the hunter said--

"Come! The dawn is breaking, and there is the promise of a fine day."

All that day they followed the trail; not without difficulty, for although in the soft soil of the forest the moccasins had left a deep print, yet at times, where the earth was dry and barren from lack of moisture, or where the redskins had followed the beds of the streams, wading in the water, the trail became difficult and the progress slower. There was also another danger that made them proceed with care. The Algonquins might have placed scouts in their rear, and at any moment an ambush might be sprung upon them.

"If only we could reach the canoes first and set them adrift, we could then delay and harass them," said Jamie.

"No! no! That would never do," replied his companion. "Our business is to locate them and then to make a detour, joining our companions at the Falls, without letting them discover our presence. Once they find that they are being tracked, the prisoners' lives are endangered, for to facilitate their progress they will kill the prisoners."

"See, here is a broken twig, and the leaves have scarcely withered, showing that it cannot be more than a few hours since they passed this way," said the lad, who was now keenly alert for every little sign that would guide them.

"Yes, and here is a deeper print in the soft earth, as though one of the prisoners had gone slightly out of his way to leave it for our assistance."

"You are right, trapper! That is the mark of the Young Eagle's moccasin, for here is the little patch on the left heel that he repaired but two days ago, when he had burned a hole in his moccasin by standing too near the fire. But look here! What does this mean?"

And a few feet further on they both stood still and gazed at several splashes of blood which had dyed the ground.

"The villains! One of them has inflicted a wound on Young Eagle, probably for snapping the twig, or leaving a footprint in the soft mould, which shows that they will be watched in future, and that we shall have no more signs."

"The wretches!"

"I hope White Eagle will not miss our trail, should he decide to follow us, rather than go direct to the falls," said Jamie, when the day had worn on into the afternoon.

"There is no fear of that. White Eagle is the greatest chief in all the Six Nations, and he could follow the trail of a humming-bird. Besides, look there. I have left him a trail that he could follow in the dark," and for about the twentieth time the trapper barked a tree with his knife in a peculiar manner, which evidently had a significant meaning for one who was versed in the secret code of the forest.

The ground hardened again now, and the trail almost disappeared, and sometimes failed altogether, so that a full hour was spent hunting for some hidden clue. At length Jamie exclaimed--

"Here is something, trapper! A broken file that Jack has purposely dropped to guide us."

"A broken file?" queried the other.

"Yes. Rather a strange thing to carry in the forest, but--but--he used it to sharpen his knife, and such things," said Jamie, reddening a little as he remembered the history of that little file in the old country. It was the one which had secured their escape from the lock-up two years ago, and Jack had kept it as a memento, saying--

"It has brought us luck once; it may do so again. At any rate, it is sure to be useful, and I will keep it."

The hunter carefully examined the file, and then passed it over to his friend. He, too, remembered to have seen a file exactly like that once--long ago--in a little land across the sea, but all the secrets and memories that it recalled were painful ones.

"Well, here's the trail, let us follow it," exclaimed Jamie. "It's as good as following a paper-chase through the woods at Burnside, I do declare."

"Where did you say?"

"Burnside! In the old country."

The old man looked long and keenly at the youth, whose features were now so brown and tanned that he was more like a redskin than a paleface. Then he was about to speak further, but he checked himself, for at that instant, when they had only followed the newly-discovered trail for a hundred yards or so--

"Whisht!" went an arrow so close to them that it pierced Jamie's beaver hat and pinned it to the bark of a tree.

In a second they had gained the shelter of a friendly elm, whose huge trunk offered cover for them both. Scarcely had they done so when--

"Whisht!" went a second arrow, and a third, both perilously near.

"I can see him, trapper," whispered Jamie, as he caught sight of a dark shadow behind a tree fifty yards away, just as the third winged messenger whizzed by.

The trapper had seen that dark form too, and had covered it with his rifle, but he hesitated to fire, and looked behind him uneasily once or twice, as though conscious that some one was advancing from the rear. Were they trapped? Had the stalkers themselves been stalked?

He was not mistaken, for a dark figure was flitting from tree to tree behind them, and each instant coming nearer.

Who could it be?

"Keep your gun levelled at that red devil in front, lad. There's some one approaching from behind! Whether friend or foe, I know not, but I'll soon find out," said the hunter.

Jamie did as he was bid, and before long the opportunity he sought was offered to him. He caught sight of the Algonquin again. As he stood fitting another arrow to his string, his right arm was exposed.

"Bang!" a flash of flame spurted from Jamie's rifle. The leaden messenger found its mark, and the Indian's arm fell helpless at his side, even as he prepared to shoot. With a yell of pain the scout plunged into the thicket and disappeared.

The next moment a dark figure bounded from the cover of a tree in the rear and quickly advanced. The trapper had him covered with his rifle, but the instant he caught sight of his face he dropped the piece and said--

"Welcome, Swift Arrow!"

CHAPTER XVIII

A LOST TRAIL

"Swift Arrow?" exclaimed Jamie, lowering his smoking rifle, as he almost rushed forward to greet his companion, in a truly English fashion, for he was heartily glad to see him again.

The Indian, however, remained cold and reserved, and his only response to the warm greeting of his paleface friend was the customary "Ugh!" which seems at times to be the only stock-in-trade of the Red Indians. The fact was, the youth was on his first war-path, and at such a time the practice of his tribe demanded deeds, not words.

"My red brother has the speed of a deer and the heart of a lion. He has seen the White Eagle, and has brought us tidings. Let him speak, and the palefaces will listen to his words," said the trapper.

After the usual pause demanded by Indian convention, the youth replied--

"White Eagle, with thirty braves, will reach the Seneca Falls at sunset. Will the palefaces continue to follow the Algonquin trail?"

"Yes," the scouts replied.

And then, without another word, Swift Arrow turned away and disappeared into the forest, almost in the direction in which he had come.

Though Jamie was now fairly acquainted with Indian manners and customs, he was rather taken aback with this abrupt departure, and would have called him back again, but the trapper said--

"Leave him alone, lad. He is only following the traditions of his race. He has followed our trail, and delivered the chief's message, and is now probably going to rejoin White Eagle. He has discharged his duty with a fidelity that many a white man might envy."

"He must be tired!"

"Yes, during the last fifty hours he must have traversed near a hundred and fifty miles of forest and streams, and I doubt very much whether he has tasted food during the whole journey."

"Hunter, I have lived amongst the red men a little while now, and I have often discovered amongst them a sense of honour and an unselfish spirit that I have never seen surpassed by the members of more civilised races."

"I'm glad to hear you say it, lad. During the last fifteen years my truest friend has been a red man."

"You mean the White Eagle?"

"I do!"

"He is a great chief. I owe him my life. But for him my scalp would now be hanging at the girdle of one of his braves. I knew he would come to your rescue, too, if he only knew of your danger."

"Come to my rescue? He would have crossed the lakes and the plains to the mountains beyond, even to the utmost bounds of the Oregon River, if he had but known that my life was in danger, and he would not have expected the slightest reward; but come, let us break our fast that we may follow the trail."

"Look, trapper. There is our dinner, and a right royal one, too," said Jamie, pointing to several wild turkeys that were feeding in the half-dried bed of a little stream near by.

The hunter raised his rifle to his shoulder quickly, and fired, and one of the birds fell over, struggled for a few seconds, and then lay still with its claws in the air. Jamie rushed off to secure it, and quickly dressed it while the trapper lighted a fire, and in a few minutes this fine fat bird was roasting on a spit, scenting the forest with the smell of roast turkey, and promising to allay every pang of hunger.

They made a hearty repast, and then washed it down with a drink at the little stream, before they continued their march. They had a trail now that a child could have followed, for at very frequent intervals there were splashes of blood, which marked the ground and showed the track of the wounded Algonquin, so that they were able to move rapidly and without any loss of time for several miles.

"We must keep a sharp look-out for scouts now, trapper, for the varlets know that we are on their track."

"That will only make them hurry forward, and I don't think that they will place many scouts in their rear. The only thing that I fear is that they will not camp to-night, but press on in order to get to the Canadas as quickly as possible. In that case, should the chief be detained, they may pass the Falls before he gets there, and reach Ontario. So we must follow close. We cannot be far from Lake Seneca now."

"Cannot we follow them there?"

"No. They will be safe behind the guns of the Frenchers."

"Is it true then, hunter, that all the Canada Indians look up to Louis as their king, and call him their 'Great French Father' across the water, and that they are in league with him to drive all the English from the Americas, and to make it a great French Empire?"

"'Tis even so, my lad! And 'tis my firm belief that the Canada war-parties, like the one whose trail we are now following, are sent to stir up strife, to tomahawk and scalp the English settlers, to destroy their harvests and burn their houses, by the Frenchers at Quebec and the frontier forts; but they defeat their own objects, for they have lately stirred up all the tribes of the Iroquois as well as the Delawares to become the active allies of the English."

"And what will be the end of it all, trapper?"

"The end of it will be, that the Frenchers themselves before long will be driven out of Canada, just as they have lately been driven out of India, by a few determined Englishmen, under that brilliant merchant-soldier, Clive."

"Indeed! Do you think it possible to drive the French out of Quebec? They have made the place impregnable. When I left there they ridiculed the idea that the English would ever attempt to take it."

"Time will show," said the trapper. "Do you know that even now a British fleet is holding the river, and an English army is encamped about Quebec?"

"Is it possible? How I should like to be there and to serve under Wolfe's flag; but how did you learn all this in the forest?"

"Even the forest can speak to those who have ears to listen. Why did the Algonquins depart so rapidly, and make no attempt to recapture me, when the price of fifty beaver-skins has been set upon my scalp by the Canadas during the past five years? They could not know then that the Iroquois were upon their trail."

"Why, indeed; unless they were summoned hastily back to their own country, or was it that they feared the wrath of the Senecas and the Cayugas, whose hunting-grounds they had invaded?"

"Partly that, perhaps, for the Senecas, like all the other tribes of the Six Nations, are a fierce and warlike race; but there was another reason."

"What was it?"

"Listen! The night before I escaped, a messenger, with a war-hatchet all covered with blood, entered the Algonquin camp. He also carried a broad belt of wampum, and the skin of a rattlesnake filled with arrows; while his tomahawk was stained a deep red, in token of war. He was received with great deference, and when he had handed the war-belt to the Algonquin chief, he declared that a fierce and bloody war had broken out between the French Father and the children of Miquon, and that the former needed all his red children to come and assist him. He promised them 'a great plenty' of paleface scalps if they would come; but if they refused, then, if the English won, they would take from the children of the Manitou all their hunting-grounds, and burn their wigwams and lodges to the ground, until the prints of their moccasins should no longer be found in the forests.

"When the messenger had finished speaking he showered the arrows upon the earth, and then flung the blood-red hatchet upon the ground, saying--

"'Even now the River of Canada is full of big canoes that carry the thunder and the lightning, and the paleface warriors from over the great Salt Lake, led by a mighty chieftain named Le Loup [Wolfe], have settled around the fortress of Canada, like a swarm of locusts. Come, my brothers! Who will take up the hatchet to fight for the Great Canada Father?'

"After a long pause, as if to give due weight and consideration to this important message, the Algonquin chief arose from his seat by the council fire, and made a brief but solemn speech, which, after extolling the prowess of his ancestors and himself, ended in a promise to return and assist the French, as soon as the scattered members of the party returned, and the scouts were called in. He then proceeded slowly to the spot where the hatchet was half buried, and solemnly took it up.

"A wild burst of savage yells greeted this action, and the evening was given up to a war-dance. Next day, while the parties were coming in, one of the scouts was scalped, as you know, by Young Eagle, and the departure was delayed another day.

"Thus it was," continued the trapper, "that I learnt of the arrival of Wolfe, and that the plight of the French was so bad that all their Indian allies had been called in to assist them, with a promise of a 'great plenty' of paleface scalps. A promise which never fails to attract a red man."

This was news that fired Jamie's soul. What would he not give to join his countrymen, and to help in wresting the Canadas from the French? At that moment he envied the smallest drummer-boy in Wolfe's army the part he was to play in the siege.

"If only Jack were free," he said to himself, "we would start for Quebec to-morrow, and offer our services; and Jack shall be free, if brave men can save him!" Then overtaking the trapper, who was a few yards in advance, for during this conversation they had been following the trail in single file, he said--

"In another two hours the sun will be entering the pines. I shall be glad when we reach one of the streams that flows into the lake. Surely we cannot be far away now!"

The hunter at that instant halted suddenly, and exclaimed, "The varmint!"

"What's the matter?" inquired Jamie, noting the anxious look on the face of his companion.

"They have misled us. This is a false trail. Several of the Algonquins have come this way in order to mislead us, and then doubled back, walking backwards. It must be so, for look--the trail ends here."

It was only too true. For nearly a mile, through tangled forest, across streams and open glades, they had followed a false trail.

"That comes of talking too much. Your Indian, when he is on the warpath, doesn't spill a word, except his blessed 'Ugh!', for he keeps his nose down to the trail. However, there is no help for it. We must go back till we strike the main trail again." This all took valuable time, but at last they discovered the spot where the tracks diverged, and they got the scent once more. The real trail had been so neatly covered up, for fifty yards or more, and the false one left open, that it was no wonder that the mistake was made.

Even here their difficulties did not end, for within another quarter of an hour they came to a spot where several small streams met, and here also the trail ended abruptly, and although they examined each bank for some distance they were unable to discover any clue as to the route taken by the Algonquins.

Time was precious, and a full half-hour had already been wasted here, when the trapper, who had carefully examined each of the bigger streams, turned his attention to the third, which was a mere rivulet. Proceeding twenty yards up the bank of the stream, he dammed up the rivulet with a few stones, backed by earth-sods, and turned it temporarily out of its course, so that almost immediately it ran dry. Then, following the dried-up bed of the stream, he soon perceived the print of a moccasin, that had only been half-washed away by the water.

"Look!" he said, "even the water sometimes gives up its secrets. Here is the trail--let us follow it."

Half-a-mile further on they came to a place where the whole band had left the stream, and struck into the forest again, and just as the sun was getting low amongst the trees they struck a larger stream that was capable of bearing a canoe.

"They have taken to the water! See, here are the marks made by the bows of the canoes, as they pushed off," said the trapper.

"And here is the spot where the boats were hidden amongst the bushes!" exclaimed Jamie.

"Yes. Let us look around and see if by any chance they have left us a spare canoe, for if I am not mistaken they have left nearly a dozen of their warriors in the Iroquois forests."

A diligent search was made, but no trace of a canoe could be found anywhere. The only thing they could find was a spare paddle, which the trapper took along with him, saying--

"A paddle without a canoe is not worth much, but if we discover a canoe and haven't got a paddle, we shall not be much better off."

They had not proceeded far down the bank of the stream when the keen eyes of the hunter, despite the failing light, perceived a stranded canoe on the other side of the river.

"I thought so!" he exclaimed. "The rascals had one canoe too many, but to prevent us using it they set it adrift, and the current has landed it across there. I will fetch it."

"No, no!" said Jamie. "I'll fetch it," and, throwing off his hunting shirt, he plunged into the stream, and swam across to where the canoe had gone ashore, jammed between two rocks. He had taken the paddle with him, and he quickly returned in the canoe, which was none the worse for its little adventure, except that there was a small hole in the bow, which the trapper soon repaired.

"There is no time to lose. We must hasten; for unless the Algonquins camp somewhere along the lake, we shall be too late," said the hunter.

The sun had set half-an-hour ago, as they paddled swiftly down stream; but there was still a crimson glow from amongst the pines on the western side of the river. Sometimes they skimmed along with the current without putting in the paddle, the next moment they danced and twisted amongst the rapids; but the trapper piloted the canoe safely amongst the rocks, the eddies and the swirls, ever seeking the most sheltered spots.

Suddenly, a bend in the river revealed to them the opening of the lake, and in another moment they were skimming along its glassy surface, close in-shore. This narrow lake is thirty-five miles long, and from one to three miles broad, and long before they had covered half its length darkness fell, but they slackened not their efforts. They paddled in turn, quietly but swiftly, ever keeping a careful watch lest they should discover the camp-fire of the enemy.

They were approaching a headland that jutted out some little way into the lake, and were scarce a dozen yards from the thick bushes which overhung the bank, when the screech of an owl reached their ears from the shore.

Jamie, who held the paddle, stayed his hand for a moment, and peered into the darkness. A dark shadowy form was standing on a rock at the very edge of the water, with an uplifted hand that indicated danger.

He knew that form and that call too well to hesitate. "It is Swift Arrow," he whispered; and drove the canoe in gently towards the shore.

CHAPTER XIX

THE AMBUSH AT SENECA FALLS

What new danger threatened them now? As they drew ashore at a spot where the bushes parted to allow the rock to jut into the water, Jamie was about to inquire from the Indian youth what was the matter, and how he had managed to strike their trail again, at a moment when perhaps they most needed his presence, but a low "Hist!" which came from the dark figure upon the rock, silenced him. Evidently the lad had feared for their safety, and at great peril had come to save them, or at any rate to make them conscious of the approaching danger.

Silently, they landed on the margin of the forest, and crept ashore. The rustle of a leaf, the snapping of a twig might betray their presence to a lurking scout, though as yet they knew not what danger threatened.

"The Wacondah has made Swift Arrow his messenger, in order to save our scalps. Swift Arrow will now speak," whispered the hunter.

Then in a low, soft, musical voice, untouched by excitement at the nearness of danger, or emotion at seeing his friends again, the Indian pointed to the dark headland, scarce a hundred yards further along the lake, and said--

"Swift Arrow has kept watch for his friends. There is the Algonquin camp, and their scouts are close to us; watching both the lake and the forest. A singing-bird has spoken to them, and they think White Eagle is behind them. Before daybreak, they will enter the Seneca River, at the outlet of the lake, on their way back to the Canadas."

"But must we remain here till they are gone?" asked Jamie.

"No," smiled the youth. "Swift Arrow will now lead his paleface friends out of danger, and pilot them safely to the spot where the White Eagle awaits the Algonquins, at the portage by the Seneca Falls."

Saying this, he stepped into the canoe and took the paddle, motioning the others to lie down in the bottom of the craft, and then noiselessly pushed off from the bank. The Indian did not attempt to continue the former direction, but paddled cautiously back a little way, hugging the shore; then he struck directly across the lake, which is here about two miles broad, and having approached the opposite bank, he turned the head of the canoe once more towards the outlet of the lake, and paddled swiftly.

This manoeuvre succeeded perfectly, and they got away unobserved. Taking turns at the solitary paddle, they soon reached the outlet, and entered the swift stream which takes its name from the lake. Now they were piloted swiftly and safely past the rapids, aided only by the light of the stars, and the daring skill of the Indian.

Two hours before dawn, a dull roar fell upon their ears. It was the cataract, where the whole river tumbles in a frenzy of froth and foam down a chasm of fifty feet, forming the far-famed Seneca Falls.

The canoes were drawn to the bank at the portage, and as they stepped ashore, the dark, shadowy forms of several painted warriors emerged from the cover of the trees. They were the Iroquois scouts, who were keenly watching for the approach of the enemy. Then a powerful and haughty chief confronted them. It was the White Eagle himself, but the stern stoicism of his countenance relaxed for a moment as he greeted his two paleface friends.

"The paleface hunter is welcome to the camp of the Iroquois. Many moons have passed since White Eagle and his friend hunted the red deer, and struck the trail of the moose together," said the chief.

"The home of the Grey Badger is in the wigwams of the Iroquois, and when he has struck his Canada enemies, he will return to his seat at the council fire of the White Eagle," replied the hunter.

"Ugh! It is well! I feared that the Canada snakes had charmed away my friend, but then I remembered that the Grey Badger is too great a warrior to permit his scalp to hang upon the poles of their lodges."

"It was a mighty close shave this time, chief. I didn't expect to see my red friends again."

"Bah! The river is now netted for the Canada salmon. My braves will take 'plenty' scalp before another sunset. Come! My warriors will watch."

A couple of Indians took up the canoe and carried it to the other end of the portage, while several others eliminated from the soft bank the marks made by the bow of the boat and the prints of the moccasins. This precaution was adopted to prevent an alarm being given to the Algonquins, who were shortly expected. Then the party retired within the precincts of the forest, there to await the coming of the dawn.

Dawn came at last--towards the sun-rising a faint yellow streak lit up the horizon. Next, a saffron tint flushed the sky, and then the stars faded and disappeared, as the gates of the morning were unbarred, and a hundred streamers of flashing, roseate hues flooded the blue vault of heaven. Myriads of songsters awoke the stillness of the forest, for the day had come, and the dark curtain of night rolled westward.

Another two hours passed, and then the hawk-eyed vigilance of the watchers was rewarded by a first glimpse of the enemy. The dull, constant roar of the cataract in their ears prevented their hearing the sound of the approaching paddles, or the crunching of their birch-bark canoes upon the beach, but long ere this, the Iroquois scouts had reported the enemy in sight, and every one was ready for the approaching fight.

The portage was a short one, and the chief had spread his warriors over the whole length in order to prevent the escape of any of the Algonquins. A few scouts headed the party, then came the Indians carrying the five canoes, and after them, the two prisoners, their arms bound with thongs, walking between a couple of braves with tomahawks in their hands.

Every one now eagerly awaited the signal for the combat. The advance party had reached a point about half-way over the ground, when the shrill scream of an eagle rose in the air. At the same instant, the clatter of a dozen rifles, and the fierce war-cry of the thirty Iroquois, burst upon the ear. The very trees about the unfortunate Algonquins seemed to turn into frenzied warriors, who, brandishing their tomahawks, rushed upon their foe. The canoes were thrown to the ground, and in the confusion which followed, brave deeds were done. A fierce hand-to-hand fight ensued, but the Algonquins, mowed down by that first fire, and hopelessly outclassed, were driven nearer and nearer to that perilous brink, where leapt the mighty cataract into the foaming rapids and whirlpools below.

A few bold spirits, rather than leave their scalps in the hands of their enemies, leapt into the chasm beneath, and were never seen again. Except these, not a soul escaped the vengeance of the Iroquois.

The two braves in charge of the prisoners were the first to fall, for from their first landing they had been covered by the rifles of the hunter and Jamie. The latter then drew his hunting-knife from its sheath, and rushing forward, cut the thongs that bound the two prisoners, and quickly drew them out of the mêlée into a place of safety, and left the contest to the Iroquois, for he had no doubt whatever of what the result would be, and taking scalps was not exactly to his liking.

Meanwhile, the White Eagle wielded his tomahawk with all the strength and fury of an Iroquois chief. He fought his way to where Red Wolf was heading and encouraging his braves, and hewed him down. It was quickly over, and in less than a quarter of an hour the Iroquois were masters of the field.

"Thanks, Jamie! You have saved my life, and I can never repay you. I had given up all hope of escape. So rigidly were we watched that there was not the slightest opportunity for us to gain our freedom. We were to have been tortured and put to death at sunset, at soon as we had reached the shambles of Fort Oswego, for you know the French have taken the place, after a dreadful slaughter, and now claim to be masters of both shores of the lake. Still, all that is past now, and I am thankful to be with my friends once more. Jamie, old fellow, how can I thank you for all this?"

"You've had a narrow squeak, Jack, but you must thank the hunter here, and Swift Arrow, who I believe has not taken food since you were made a prisoner. Come!" and Jamie led his old comrade towards the others.

"Let me introduce you to the 'Great Paleface Hunter' who held your trail till the White Eagle could arrive with his braves."

"What! the Grey Badger, the friend of the chief?"

"The same. He is a mighty paleface, and I have learnt to love him already. He is the most renowned hunter in all the forests south of the lakes."

So, while the Indians harvested the spoils of the enemy, the three palefaces lit a fire, and cooked a breakfast from a large salmon, speared in the river below, satisfied the pangs of hunger at a spot a little apart from the braves, near by the lower end of the portage, and then talked for an hour about all the news that had filtered through the forest relative to the great conflict, which was already raging so fiercely on both banks of the St. Lawrence.

The youths listened with pent-up feelings, while the hunter told all he had heard from passing voyageurs and Indian runners of the disasters that had befallen the English arms of late. He described the disaster of Ticonderoga, the fall of Fort Oswego, and the partial success of Dieskau, but when he spoke of the capture of Fort William Henry and the frightful massacre which followed, the lads sprang to their feet, and declared in one breath--

"We will go and offer our services to General Wolfe, for our country needs us!"

The light of battle was in their eyes, the courage of manhood mounted to their brows, as they clasped each other's hand across the fire, and repeated their promise to join the English lines; then, turning to the trapper, who remained seated by the fire, smoking calmly and puffing the blue smoke from an Indian calumet, Jamie said--

"Say, hunter! Will you join us on yet another trail, where the game shall be, not redskins, but the recreants of Montcalm, and the reward, not Indian scalps, but the honour of the old flag, or--a soldier's grave?"

"Lads," he replied, "my country has not been over kind to me. I am an exile from my native land, and yet I have never committed a crime. My conscience is clear; but I, too, feel my country's call, and I know her need, and it shall never be said of me that I shirked the call of duty, when already so many exiles have left their bones to bleach in the forest, for the land that has denied to them a hearth and a home. I will go! Let us bid good-bye to the chief and his braves."