“Now just-one more!”

“Oh, look a’here! that’s what you’ve been saying for a half hour or more! You see where the sun is, don’t you!”

“All right, then, I don’t care; but there’s-a regular whale almost on my hook and it’s too bad to-disappoint him,” the first speaker returned. Even as he answered, however, he drew in the long, heavy fishing pole he held and followed his companion’s example in winding his line on a broad, flat stick notched at both ends.

It was time, indeed, that the day’s sport be ended. The autumn sun was scarcely visible through the branches of the trees to the west. The air, so soft and warm at mid-day, was growing cold, and six miles or more lay between the young fishermen and the homely but snug log cabin which was their home, and whose pleasant fire and comforts the nipping wind now made doubly attractive.

Those of you who have read “Far Past the Frontier” or “Connecticut Boys in the Western Reserve” will have recognized in the two fisher lads thus introduced Return Kingdom and John Jerome, once more in the Ohio wilderness to complete their home-making after the trying times of the preceding spring and winter, ending, as you know, with the recovery of the hidden fortune which cost so many lives and for which so many searched in vain.

Of course it was John,—slight of figure but strong, tough and wiry as a wolf, and full of fun as a lively young fellow of eighteen or so could be, who had shown such reluctance to put away his line and yield no longer to the temptation to try for “just one more.”

Of course it was Ree Kingdom, tall and broad shouldered, who pointed out the fast-setting sun and recognized the necessity of starting homeward before darkness hid the way. Somehow it always was left to Ree to guide and direct. His quiet manner, energy, resourcefulness and thoughtfulness made him naturally the leader. He was very little older than his lifelong friend, Jerome, but the latter was always willing that Ree should be the captain in all their various enterprises. And yet it may well be said that John was a very agreeable and helpful private in all undertakings, whether in matters of work, matters of sport and recreation, or matters involving their common safety in this wild country of Ohio where they had set about to establish their home and at the same time carry on a profitable trade with the Indians.

“We might have crossed over and had a look at the Delawares’ Harvest Festival,” said John, stretching himself preparatory to beginning the homeward journey.

“Still, the art of minding your own business is often worth cultivating. It’s a pretty good idea, sometimes,” Kingdom answered with a smile, and picked up a paddle to shove the canoe off into deeper water. Just as he did so a piece of dried mud, such as would weigh an ounce or two, dropped into the little craft directly in front of him.

“Hello, here! Hello, Fishing Bird!” exclaimed John who, as he was facing the reed-lined shore, was the first to see whence the bit of dried earth came, and recognized at once an old friend from the Indian town.

“How now, Fishing Bird? We thought you were busy with the Harvest Festival that Lone-Elk planned so grandly. How come—”

Kingdom’s greeting, rapidly following John’s, was interrupted by the Indian placing a finger to his lips and shaking his head most earnestly.

“Paleface brothers listen, Paleface brothers not make any noise at all. Hear all Fishing Bird will say,” the Delaware began in a subdued undertone, keeping himself almost wholly concealed by the tall grass and reeds at the water’s edge.

“No! look other way!” he urged, speaking rapidly but low, as both the white lads turned toward him. “Maybe Lone-Elk watching. Lone-Elk says Little Paleface is a witch and must be killed. Big Buffalo is dead—found dead by Little Wolf in the bushes by the water—and now Lone-Elk says a cloud that was Little Paleface bewitched touched Big Buffalo with a tomahawk and so he died. So must Little Paleface go away—go far, heap far away. Go soon—right now! Lone-Elk come quick. Bye.”

A slight rustling of the grass was followed by silence. For a second the young white men waited, their faces turned away from the shore as the Indian had asked. When they no longer heard him, however, they quickly looked about, but only to find themselves alone. As quietly as he had come and as suddenly, had the Delaware disappeared.

Considerably perplexed and more than a little astonished, the boys looked at each other inquiringly.

“Real nice,” said John. “It appears that I’m a witch and that I touched Big Buffalo with a tomahawk and killed him! What d’ye think of that, now!”

A smile which was more brave than merry was on John’s face, but Ree’s brow was wrinkled by deep thought.

“There’s a chance that Fishing Bird has stretched this thing—that it’s not half as bad as he makes out,” Kingdom returned at last. “But the worst of it is, we don’t know. Hang it all, why did he have to rush off so after telling just enough to make us want to know more? Yet we’ve got to give him credit for what he has done, and the only safe thing is to take full account of all he said,—take full account of all of-it till we find out just what it’s worth, at least.”

“What d’ye say to going across to their town and finding out just what that Seneca’s up to, Ree? Pretend, of course, that we haven’t heard a thing unusual; just dropped in to look at the Festival and say ‘howdy.’”

But Kingdom shook his head to this proposal at once.

“If there’s going to be trouble it will catch us soon enough without our setting out to hunt it,” he said. “Fishing Bird was in dead earnest and afraid lest he be caught or suspected of giving warning. That’s the reason he left so quickly. No, John, the thing for us to do is to make tracks in good order toward the little log house and keep our eyes open every minute.”

“And I killed Big Buffalo—just to think that I killed that ugly, prowling, malicious old rascal! Faith, ’twould make me laugh if—if—”

John’s musing exclamation was unfinished. With a swift stroke of the paddle Kingdom sent the canoe sweeping through the water with sudden liveliness and the lad who, under the name of “Little Paleface,” must answer to the charge of witchcraft, could only seize a paddle, also, to use as a rudder and likewise assist in hurrying the light bark craft onward.

Heading into a long arm of the lake extending northward, the boys touched shore at last at a little point of high ground which projected through the mass of rank grass, reeds and bushes bordering the water at this point, and continued on foot among trees and underbrush. Kingdom shouldered the canoe while John carried their rifle, paddles and goodly string of fish.

There was not much opportunity to talk and each lad was busy with his own thoughts. However, when after a long walk overland they reached a considerable’ stream, by the aid of which they could complete their journey in the more comfortable manner the canoe afforded them, John was not long in breaking the silence.

“Ree,” he said, with rather more earnestness and show of temper than was usual with him, “I shouldn’t be surprised if they come for me tonight. Confound the ignorant beasts!”

“I’ve been thinking so,” was the answer, “and I’m afraid they will.”

“The cabin ain’t in as good shape as it used to be; the logs dry and the roof drier! And honest to goodness, Ree, I don’t see what we’re going to do about it; I can’t help but feel but that I’m to blame for the mess, somehow, though what I ever did to get Lone-Elk down on me I don’t know, blamed if I do!”

“Why, you’re nothing of the kind, John! Get all such foolishness out of your head. And what we’re going to do about it is to be ready for them! I guess we can take care of ourselves now that we know what’s likely to happen. Actually, the thing that bothers me most is just the thought of where we’d have landed but for Fishing Bird letting us know. If ever there was an all white heart in a red skin, it’s his, and there’s no doubt about it.”

“And tomorrow we will find out from some one from the village or other Indians that happen to pass, just how the land lays—that is, if—if we don’t find out sooner,” John replied with a grim smile. “And Big Buffalo’s dead! I can hardly believe it, by thunder! I guess it was the Seneca that killed him, if anybody did. Don’t you s’pose Lone-Elk killed him, Ree?”

“Can’t tell. Off-hand I’d say it couldn’t have been any one else. It’s been common talk this long while that Lone-Elk and Big Buffalo didn’t hitch up worth a hill o’ beans, but—and hang it all, it’s this that makes the whole thing so bad a mess—we simply don’t know.”

This phase of the curious situation in which they found themselves—this air of mystery and uncertainty connected with the report and warning which had reached them, afforded a more fertile subject for discussion by the two boys than did the question of their own personal safety. The latter was a matter which must await developments, and neither boy yet realized how serious the situation was. Their quickly made agreement to hold the fort and face the trouble bravely had, for the time, disposed of that question.

But the death of the Delaware who had always been so hostile to them, and the mysterious trick of fate by which, though dead, he was still the direct cause of trouble coming just when all their plans were going forward so smoothly, and just when they were in every way getting along so comfortably, gave occasion for much speculation and exchange of ideas.

“It’s not so hard to understand why Lone-Elk should want to get rid of us and to make trouble for us,” said Kingdom reflectively, “because all summer he has been talking war and stirring things up generally.”

“And even hinting that we were sending word of what all the Delawares were doing straight to Mad Anthony at Fort Pitt,” John broke in warmly. “Fishing Bird it was that told us that, too.”

“Still I’d like to know just what took Big Buffalo off his pins,” was Ree’s reply, and so the conversation continued with no conclusion being reached excepting only that there was going to be trouble and it must be met and faced just as it had been confronted and finally overcome so many times before.

It may have been, indeed, most likely was, the very fact that always in the past they had come out of the most perilous difficulties without permanent injury, which made the two boys slow to appreciate the gravity of their present position—a position of the greatest danger; far from all human assistance and with all the Indians who hitherto had been their friends now turned against them.

The little house of logs perched on the eastern bluff directly above the river would no doubt have seemed a very lonesome spot and insecure enough to other eyes, as the boys approached it in the autumn twilight, but not so to them. With its surroundings of small but well cultivated fields in the valley below, its big, comfortable looking woodpile at the edge of the woods and the cheerful welcome of Neb and Phoebe, their two horses, whinnying their greeting from the rude log stable, it was a pleasure to them to be safely there once more.

It was home. The stout log walls would soon shut out the darkness and, they believed, the danger, holding them snug and warm with the firelight and the pleasant smell of their cooking supper within.

John looked after the horses at the barn while Kingdom built up the fire in the cabin and soon had the fish deliciously frying and several extremely generous slices of coarse corn bread toasting on the hearth. A pot of maple tea—(maple sugar boiled in water—an Indian drink) simmered from its hook above the blaze, and a bark tray of nuts, cracked and ready for dessert, was in waiting on the table.

“Better have everything shut tight,” suggested Ree as John came in.

“That’s what I’ve done,” was the answer, “not a knot-hole open. But—well, now that we are home and so jolly comfortable, does it not seem to you just as if Fishing Bird’s coming and all that he said was just some nasty dream and not really so at all? Does to me. I don’t forget it for more than a minute at a time, but I feel as if I’d wake up pretty soon and find I’d just been sleeping on my back.”

“Well, it’s too bad,” was the answer.

“We’ve got too much else to do to be bothered this way,” John returned.

“I’ve been thinking,” Ree went on, “that Captain Pipe may give that Seneca to understand a thing or two and prove to be our friend again, just when we most need him, as he has done more than once before. Still we’ve got to look alive every minute till the trouble’s over, and so you put the supper on the table, John, and I’ll just take a little look around the house and cast my eyes about the clearing for a minute.”