“Peaceful as a Nanny goat,” was Kingdom’s declaration upon returning from his scouting expedition a quarter of an hour later, and both boys sat down to their evening meal feeling for the time quite secure. As was natural, however, their conversation still centered upon the strange news and warning which had come to them and they discussed many plans of possible action.

One thing seemed apparent; they must remain near the cabin or the Indians, finding it empty, would be very likely, under Lone-Elk’s leadership, to destroy it. Except to stay where they were, therefore, and face the Seneca and his charges, only one course was open. This was to take their horses and such goods as could be carried, and seek the protection of Fort Pitt or Gen. Wayne’s army encamped near there.

Of the whole evening’s talk, however, but one thing, in addition to the plan argued at the very first, was settled. It was that John should be in readiness to make his escape if such a move were found necessary. It was he and he alone who was charged with witchcraft. Fishing Bird had made this plain. Ree would be in danger only as the friend of the “witch” and it was unlikely, considering the friendly relations the boys had always sought to maintain with the Delawares, that harm would come to the elder lad unless some specific charge were lodged against him, or unless he should be forced into the fight in defense of his friend.

The latter situation was what Ree himself fully expected. If there was to be trouble he would court his full share of it and he would not have thought of planning otherwise.

Soon after supper the boys covered their fire with ashes, making the interior of the cabin completely dark; and though they spent the succeeding hours in conversation they watched the surrounding clearing from the loopholes.

Neither had much desire to sleep, but at last John prevailed upon Kingdom to lie down for awhile, and he alone remained on guard until nearly morning. Once he was given a lively thrill when a dark object emerged slowly and cautiously from the woods and crept toward the cabin. But the visitor proved to be only a wolf, which presently trotted away and was lost in the shadows again, and Jerome was well pleased that he had given Kingdom no chance to laugh by taking alarm when no danger threatened.

Some time before daybreak, Ree, who had slept but little, arose and ordered John to bed. The latter reluctantly obeyed. “For,” he said, “if a surprise is what the Seneca has in mind, it will be just before morning that they’ll be most likely to come.”

But the long night passed without a disturbing sound. When Jerome bounced out of his bunk of blankets spread upon freshly gathered leaves, after troubled dreams in which Big Buffalo pursued him with an upraised hatchet resembling a gorgeously colored sunset cloud, it was to find a cheerful blaze in the fireplace and Ree washing up the dishes left untouched since supper. The door stood open and the cool, pure air with its scent of frost-nipped leaves was like a tonic. The tinkle of the water along the banks of the river below rose musically in the almost perfect quiet prevailing in both the woods and clearing, and nowhere was there hint or sign that danger lurked near and nearer.

Waiting—lingering over their breakfast, glancing often and anxiously through the open door and frequently going out to scan the clearing from side to side and from end to end—waiting, they hardly knew for what,—in the early morning the young settlers began to find time hanging heavily on their hands.

They were not accustomed to such inactivity. To feel compelled to remain idle, too, when there were so many things they wished to be doing, was almost as trying as it was to bear up cheerfully under the constant thought that the next hour,—the next minute, even—might find them fighting for their very lives.

“This certainly seems like a lot of foolishness,” said John, at last impatiently.

“But seeming and being are two altogether different things,” Ree answered. “Still, it’s not very comfortable or enjoyable, I’ll admit. But what else can we be doing?”

“Some one’s coming!” exclaimed John in an undertone, instantly changing the trend of both his own thoughts and Ree’s. He was standing out where he could command a view of the river, while Kingdom sat in the doorway.

Quietly and with an appearance of unconcern Ree rose and went forward. Looking in the direction John in a whisper indicated, he saw three half-naked savages two hundred yards or more up the stream. They were hastily dragging a canoe out of the water and up onto the bank opposite that on which the cabin stood.

“Holler at them! Sing out something!” John urged, looking toward the Indians again himself. Not to attract their notice he had at first pretended he did not see them. “Blest if I know any of them!” he added, looking more closely.

Already the redskins were well up on the river bank and two of them had lifted the canoe up to their shoulders.

“I can’t make out why they are leaving the water in that way,” Ree answered. “Maybe we can find out. Ho, there! Howdy, brothers!”

Kingdom’s voice was clear and strong. There could be no doubt of the Indians having heard him, but the only effect of his words, apparently, was to send them hurrying into the woods the faster and in another second they had disappeared from sight.

“Umph!” Kingdom ejaculated wonderingly, “I believe they’re afraid of you, John,—afraid to sail down past us! But you can’t tell much about it, either. It may be they thought they’d find us gone and were taken by surprise to find out otherwise.”

“Well, it shows one thing, we never saw such a queer piece of business before, and it simply proves that there’s something wrong and most likely it’s just what Fishing Bird told us,” John answered, pretty soberly.

“Yes, it proves that there’s something up, sure, and I guess we’re both tired of waiting to find out more about it,” said Kingdom decisively. “So I’ll tell you what we’ll do: Just you keep yourself safe somewhere and I’ll ride Phoebe over to the Delaware town and find out all about it. We’ll surely get no news, good or bad, from Indians happening to go by if they all break into the woods on the far side of the river, before getting here!”

“Ree, you’ve told me a thousand times, if you’ve told me once, to be prudent. Now how about being prudent yourself? We’d better wait! We’ll get some word, yet.”

Kingdom made no answer at once, but he was still thinking of the plan he had so impulsively proposed and the more he pondered the more it appealed to him. Then he began to give John the benefit of his thoughts—began to argue that they could not afford to wait indefinitely, with only their supposition that they would be attacked as a reason; began to point out that the time to win the favorable attention of Captain Pipe was before fighting took place, not afterward; began to regret that he had not gone to the town of the Delawares earlier. But he would not admit that he himself would be in danger, though ever so anxious lest John should not properly take care of himself in his absence.

As usual, Kingdom had his way, though in this case it might well be questioned whether his was the right way, all things considered, and especially in view of what happened afterward.

With a final word of caution to John to keep himself safe by staying within easy reach of the cabin’s thick walls, Kingdom mounted the docile mare, given them by Theodore Hatch, the Quaker, and set off at a gallop. It was a delightfully warm, sunny autumn day and but for the load upon his spirits the daring young rider, dashing in and out among the trees, where the rough trail crooked and curved, would have been buoyantly happy. The ground was carpeted with freshly fallen leaves. The foliage of the underbrush was still scarcely touched by the frost, and the cawing of the crows and chatter of numerous smaller birds imparted a feeling as if life were a long, bright holiday.

Still, Ree could not rid his mind of the sense of danger which, like a shadow, followed always closely with him, and he turned over and over in his thoughts plan after plan for laying the whole cause of his visit clearly before Captain Pipe, and asking his interference.

Fresh and active, Phoebe kept a steady, rapid gallop, wherever the overhanging branches would permit such speed, and in but little more than an hour Kingdom drew rein within a short walk of the Indian town.

It was Ree’s intention to ascertain as fully as possible just what the Delawares were doing, and then, if the situation were not too serious, ride up to and among the scattered collection of huts as boldly and freely as he would have done on any other occasion.

But his pause to reconnoiter was fortunate. He had left the portage trail, an extension of which led to the village, and sheltered himself among some small, low trees thickly growing between the path and the lake. Dismounting, he listened closely but heard no sound. Even the Indian town must be very quiet, he thought, that not so much as a voice or the bark of a dog was heard. However, he slipped the bridle rein over Phoebe’s head and hung it loosely upon a short, projecting branch, preparatory to going forward to investigate on foot.

A footstep, light as a feather, but instantly caught by his quick ear, made Ree start. Over his shoulder he saw, half hidden by some bushes, a face turned toward him and a hand upraised in a way commanding silence.

“Gentle Maiden!” He spoke the name in an undertone, which showed both his surprise and his friendly feeling for the one addressed.

“I heard the hoofs of your horse,” said the Indian girl, drawing stealthily nearer and in the same manner looking all about her. “My Paleface brother’s friend—he is not here.” Her words seemed to put a question she feared to more directly ask, and Kingdom realized at once, if he had ever doubted before, that the warning from Fishing Bird was not without most serious reason.

While the young white man hesitated to speak, not knowing just how much he dared let the daughter of Captain Pipe understand that he knew, she continued:

“My Paleface brother is in danger. Big Buffalo was found dead and Lone-Elk, the stranger from afar, has said a witch has done it—killed Big Buffalo with a witch’s hatchet that leaves no mark. Lone-Elk says the witch is Little Paleface, the friend of my brother here,—says he saw Little Paleface, bewitched, strike the Delaware down. Even now have Lone-Elk and some others gone to seize him.”

“And Captain Pipe, your father—does Captain Pipe let them do this?” Ree asked, trying to remain calm.

“The custom is that the witch must die,” the girl made answer, turning her eyes away.

“Gentle Maiden, you know that John Jerome—you know that Little Paleface is no witch; that he no more killed Big Buffalo than you did.” Kingdom’s voice was half angry in its impatient earnestness.

“The customs of the Indians are not the customs of the white people,” the girl made answer. “Lone-Elk is powerful. What Gentle Maiden believes would be as dipping water from the lake yonder with a cup—making no difference one way, no difference another.”

“But Captain-Pipe knows better, Gentle Maiden.”

“Hopocon—my father, that you call Captain Pipe—wants none of the Paleface teachings. When the missionaries told Gentle Maiden long ago there were no witches, he only pitied them that they knew no better.”

“But—”

“No, no!” the girl broke out hurriedly. “My Paleface brother must not wait talking here. That which is, must be. Not long has Lone-Elk been gone. By riding fast the White Fox can reach his cabin before the coming of the Seneca, and with Little Paleface soon be far away where Lone-Elk will not find them. Haste! Gentle Maiden has done all she can. Paleface brother must not remember who has told him this, but oh, he must remember what he has heard! Hurry, hurry, now, or—”

“I’ll go, Gentle Maiden, I’ll go. If I can ever pay back the kindness you have done both John and me, I’ll not be slow to do it, you may be sure. But it’s a downright shame—no, what I mean is that you need never fear anyone will so much as suspect that you told me this or anything. Good-bye, good-bye.”

With such feverish anxiety and haste did Ree speak, now that he was bent only on flying to John’s rescue, he scarce knew what he said; but in a trice he was in the saddle. And yet quickly as he moved, when he turned to give a parting nod the Indian girl was gone.

Long familiarity with the woods had made the beautiful, intelligent mare, Phoebe, almost as free and light-footed among the trees and brush and rough ground, often broken by rougher roots and fallen branches, as a deer. Kingdom placed all dependence in his horse’s ability to avoid or clear every obstruction and urged the gentle creature to the utmost, paying little heed to anything save to escape the limbs of trees overhead as he hastened on. He had at once concluded that Lone-Elk and his band were undoubtedly traveling toward the cabin by the route to the east of the lake and the swamp which bounded a considerable portion of it, for otherwise he must have met them. He knew that they could easily have heard him approaching and hidden themselves until he passed, but long training had made his ears sharp and his eyes the same. Maybe he had this time, however, placed too much dependence in them.

“Anyhow, we’ll soon know, my pet,” he murmured with teeth clenched, and Phoebe seemed to understand.

Out upon the bluffs above the river, into the open for a moment, then down the precipitous hills and across the water at a shallow place horse and rider went, and, emerging soon from the woods again, were in the natural clearing—the clearing which had originally tempted the boy pioneers to locate here.

All was quiet. The cabin stood like a sentry at rest on the high bank rising abruptly from the river, then sloping down on all sides away from it. The yellow, autumn sunlight made the whole scene appear even drowsily tranquil. A sense of relief came to Kingdom, and he even felt chagrined that he had been so decidedly disturbed.

Still it was strange that John did not show himself. Perhaps the exceeding quiet all about was, after all, fraught with greatest danger. Perhaps—but Ree was at the foot of the slope now and his mind had scarcely time to present another thought before he was up the hill, and throwing himself from the horse, quickly entered the open door of the low log house.

“John!” he called in a low tone—and a little catch in his throat which he could not control, gave his voice a tremulous quaver. “John!”

“Yes, Ree;” the answer was scarcely more than a whisper, “I’m up here in the loft, and listen! You can hear me?”

“Every word.”

“Don’t act surprised or excited or show that you have found out or heard anything, for they’re watching now—Lone-Elk and a pack of Delawares have surrounded the clearing. I’ve been peeking through a crack, watching ’em half an hour or more.”