A most uncomfortable feeling of horror and astonishment held John Jerome speechless and motionless as he looked on the appalling scene which his moving of the brush heap had revealed. For the time all his senses seemed to desert him and, acting on an impulse of utter dismay, he hastily drew the bulk of the brush pile over the bodies again and hurried away.

As if he would find a refuge there, John hastened to the rude shelter where he had spent the night and where a few coals, still bright and warm, seemed to radiate a protecting air about the lonely spot.

All thoughts and actions are influenced more or less by one’s surroundings, and being in the presence of that which suggested comfort and tranquillity, the startled boy was able presently to regain his composure somewhat. But if ever John desired the company of Ree Kingdom, and felt the need of his aid and counsel, he did now.

If only his own inclinations were to have been consulted, Jerome would have set out for home at as lively a pace as possible. Only the thought of the questions Ree would ask, and which he would be unable to answer, stood in his way. He could easily assure himself that, so far as his own curiosity was concerned, he had no wish to look again upon the awful objects the brush covered. Yet it would not do to go back to Kingdom with practically no definite information.

Mustering all the resolution he could, therefore, John returned to the dreadful spot, walking with great caution and with many anxious glances in all directions. He knew that the two bodies must have been placed where he had found them at least two or three days earlier, yet he was haunted by the feeling that the murderers were hiding close by. He rather expected, indeed, that the next moment they would jump out and seize him.

In this state of mind it required all the courage he could command to take hold of the lower portions of the matted mass of brush and drag the whole heap to one side; but he did it, and quickly then, lest his nerve fail him before the task was done, he examined both the corpses.

One was that of a man of about thirty years, dressed in homespun clothes and having in general appearance the unmistakable marks of the frontier about him. The hair was red and the face and hands showed many freckles despite the discoloration which had taken place.

The other body had been in life a robust giant of a fellow, perhaps twenty-two years old, with long, thick black hair, and a short, stubby growth of beard upon his face. The finer texture of the clothing and the style of the garments denoted a man from the east, one who was not ordinarily a hunter or a woodsman.

Both men had been shot—one from the side, for the bullet had entered his temple; the other undoubtedly from behind. The wound was hardly noticeable but the bullet had seemingly shattered the spinal column.

No valuables, no papers, no arms, absolutely nothing was there, so far as John could find, on or near either of the bodies which would furnish any clew to their identity. Powder horns, knives and all things of the kind usually carried by men in the woods had been taken away. The further fact that the dead had been scalped, as well as robbed, convinced John that Indians had done the deed. He did not linger long, however, to speculate upon the question. Placing the covering of brush over the bodies again, he literally fled from the spot, nor did he slacken his speed to a rapid walk until he had left the cause of his alarm a full mile behind.

Unnerved and depressed as he was, John entirely forgot the danger which confronted him in his accustomed haunts, and constantly thought of but one thing, which was that he must see Kingdom and tell him of the terrible discovery without a moment’s delay.

“I’ll keep going all night; no rest for me now,” he told himself, and yet what he meant to do or what he supposed Ree would be able to do concerning the matter uppermost in his mind, he would not have been able to say.

Night came on. Poor Jerome had eaten nothing since morning and his fatigue was great. His mind was calmer now, and he felt the uselessness of going on without rest or food. Beside a great log where the wind had drifted the freshly fallen leaves he sat down, therefore, and ate the little meat he had remaining. It was rather comfortable here, he thought—almost any resting place would seem so after such a day as he had had—and he wrapped his blanket about him and lay down. The next day he would be back to the rocky ledges and the friendly hollow poplar again. By Monday morning, if not before, he would see Kingdom, that is, if nothing had befallen him. After what he had seen at the “lick” he would not be surprised to hear of more dreadful things.

How greatly both he and Ree had trusted the Indians, he reflected. Now if he could but find Kingdom safe and sound, and they both could get away to Fort Pitt or any place of safety, he would ask nothing more. But no, on second thought, he would ask yet one thing. It would be the privilege of joining Gen. Wayne’s army and taking up arms against the savages in any campaign the white military would conduct.

And so thinking, John Jerome fell asleep.

It was a crisp, bright, fall night. Return Kingdom had eaten his supper quite dejectedly after spending the whole day watching for the coming of Lone-Elk or others of the Indians, while making scarcely more than a pretense of being busy husking corn. He was glad that John would soon return. While he had no thought of deserting the cabin and the clearing, he would feel much more comfortable to have Jerome somewhere near. True, he could see but little of him until Lone-Elk’s accusation was effectually disposed of, but there would at least be some one with whom he could discuss the situation, some one sharing with him the news of each day’s developments and the plans for future action.

In a brown study Ree sat before the fireplace. Then an Indian yell, fierce and loud—a yell which was more of a war-whoop than he was glad to hear—brought him quickly to his feet. Seizing his rifle, he opened a loophole in the wall in a corner where the light was dim, and looked out. A party of savages was approaching. The Indians moved in single file, making no effort to conceal their numbers, and seeming to be bent on no particular mischief.

Reassured by his observations, Kingdom opened the door while the redskins were yet but half way up the hill and, putting on an appearance of unconcern, called out to know who was disturbing the night with such a racket.

“The Delawares have come to demand the Little Paleface,” the voice of Lone-Elk rose in response.

“You mean the Seneca has come,” Kingdom boldly answered. “It is he who demands that one who was never anything but the friend of the Delawares shall be punished for a crime that is not his.”

By this time the Indians were close about the cabin door.

“Come in, friends,” Kingdom continued, his voice taking on a more cordial tone. “I suppose you have come to look for Little Paleface, but he is not here nor has he been for many days.”

“Witches come or witches go. Like the wind they are here but they are gone. Let the Delawares see.”

These words from Lone-Elk set all the party to looking about in careful search. No crevice was too small to escape their investigations. They seemed to think the so-called witch might hide himself in a space not large enough to admit a hand, and peered into every chink and corner.

It developed later that the savages were looking more for evidence of witchcraft than for the alleged witch himself. Still nothing was discovered.

“Brothers, hearken to Lone-Elk,” the Seneca cried presently. “We remember the great crow which sat so long upon the gathered corn. Look, then, where the corn was. Witches take strange forms but they leave marks behind, if the Delawares can find them.”

In a body the reckless party of braves the Seneca had brought rushed toward the cornfield. Only one loitered in the rear and he was Fishing Bird.

Lone-Elk was in advance. Even while he spoke, he was leading the way, and as if he had marked the spot well, he went directly to the shock of corn on which the vagrant crow was perched the day the Indians watched in vain for John Jerome while he slyly peeked out at them from the cabin loft.

“Tear down the corn! See what can be found!” the Seneca cried, and with a violent jerk laid the shock of fodder over upon the ground.

“Ugh!”

The savage who spoke was an evil-looking fellow and one of Lone-Elk’s warmest followers. Even as his exclamations were made, he seized a heavy stone tomahawk, which lay on the ground where the shock of corn had been, and held it up for all to behold.

Lone-Elk shrugged his shoulders significantly and called all the Indians together. Here, he declared, was the identical hatchet which had slain Big Buffalo. And see the dark stains upon it! Even in the moonlight did they show red with the blood of the dead warrior.

With talk of this kind the anger of the Delawares was inflamed. Most of them now believed implicitly the charges of witchcraft Lone-Elk had made, and a few words from him would be sufficient to cause an immediate attack to be made upon Ree and the cabin.

Kingdom saw his danger. He knew as well as if he had seen the thing done that Lone-Elk had concealed the tomahawk beneath the shock of corn, but what could he do or say? If only Fishing Bird would tell what he had seen after following the Seneca to the white boys’ clearing, it might be enough to turn the sentiment of the Indians another way. They would see that they were being trifled with and their ignorance played upon by one who was not trusted even by his own tribe. The whole trouble might be settled at once.

But Fishing Bird did not speak and Kingdom would not betray the friendly fellow’s confidence, though his very life depended upon it. Still he made light of the discovery of the tomahawk and told Lone-Elk to his face that he knew perfectly well who hid the hatchet in the corn.

So bold was Ree, indeed, in making this and other accusations against the Seneca that the latter would have made an end of the young white man then and there but for his fear of Captain Pipe. As it was, he satisfied himself with inflaming the Delawares against Ree, as well as against the “Paleface witch,” and undoubtedly hoped in secret that some of the more reckless ones would set fire to the cabin, or even kill its owner. So long as he could tell their chief that the Delawares themselves, not he, had committed the outrage and violated the promise made the young Paleface, he could wish nothing better.

Kingdom owed it to Fishing Bird and two or three others, but to Fishing Bird most of all, that the exciting talk of the Seneca resulted in no immediate harm to him. The counsel of these Indians was not of the loud and angry manner of Lone-Elk’s bitter speeches, but to the contrary, quiet and persuasive.

“The Delawares will bide their time. They will do nothing rash because Lone-Elk seeks with talk to drive them to madness. Can it be the Seneca has some reason that we know not of for desiring the trouble he seeks to cause?”

With many quiet remarks of this character, spoken in the Indian tongue, Fishing Bird moved among the excited braves and warriors, and more than one, chancing to hear his low spoken words, stopped in the midst of his shouting and threatening demonstrations to consider if what Fishing Bird said was not pretty wholesome counsel after all.

Through all the uproar and while the savages ran here and there, shrieking and excited, upsetting the shocks of corn and doing much other annoying damage, bent on finding more hidden tomahawks or other evidence of witchcraft, Kingdom stood in the cabin doorway. He could close and bar the door in a second if it should be necessary to do so, he knew; but until that time came he meant to give none of the Delawares, much less Lone-Elk, any cause for believing that he was in any manner frightened or at all seriously disturbed.

When it became apparent that nothing more was to be discovered, the few Indians who had not already taken heed of the words of Fishing Bird quieted down and seeing that they would commit no greater or further violence, the Seneca summoned all to gather round him. Close to the cabin he led the band, and not knowing what the treacherous rascal might have in mind, Kingdom gripped his rifle closer and even slung it up to a position over his arm in which he could make quick use of the weapon.

“The White Fox was to give himself as a hostage for the delivery of the Paleface witch to the Delawares,” Lone-Elk cried to the Indians who gathered round him. “If the one that is called Little Paleface is not a witch and did not kill Big Buffalo with his witch’s hatchet, let the White Fox say where the Little Paleface is, and come now as a hostage to the great chief, Hopocon, till the murderer of Big Buffalo is found.”

“Even as the Great Spirit knows that Little Paleface did not kill Big Buffalo, so does Lone-Elk know it. He knows it as well as he knows how came that hatchet hidden in the corn,” Kingdom answered loudly, and with a tone of solemn certainty that could not escape the Indians’ notice. “And I, whom the Delawares call White Fox; I, who have been their friend and enjoyed their friendship in return until Lone-Elk came among you, now call upon all who are here, and all the people of Captain Pipe’s town, to witness this statement—that if harm comes to Little Paleface or to me, every Delaware will regret it;-that the Great Spirit hears me when I say that in the end we all shall know by whose hand Big Buffalo was killed, and we shall see that it was not by witchcraft that he died.”

“Much talk! A young buck’s much big talk!” grunted Lone-Elk contemptuously in English; but that Kingdom’s solemn words and manner had much impressed a majority of the Indians the young pioneer himself well knew, and the Seneca must have seen it also. At any rate he started off toward the Delaware town, swinging the blood-stained tomahawk over his shoulder as he went. One by one the others followed.