An inexplainable instinct sometimes warns a person of the approach of peril. The experience of most of us confirms this statement, and we are tempted to suspect that it is another manifestation of that occult "sixth sense" of which we have only a shadowy conception.

Wharton Edwards and Larry Murphy had been sleeping several hours, for it will be remembered that they were exceedingly tired. Day was at hand, and yet, in the usual order of things, they would have slumbered several hours longer; but, at the same moment, the two became as wide awake as they were when hurrying along the trail to the block-house.

This moment of awakening came when the Indian was in the act of laying down his bow behind him. Larry, being nearer to the savage than Wharton, took upon himself to act promptly.

In an instant he rose upon one knee and levelled his gun at the astonished Shawanoe. In the act of doing so the youth recalled that he had not reloaded it since firing the weapon while in the canoe. Nothing in his manner, however, told the red man this interesting fact.

"Do the same as mesilf," whispered Larry to his companion, "for I forgot to load my gun."

Wharton was quick to obey, and the Indian stood petrified, absolutely unable to move hand or foot.

"I've got ye now, ye spalpeen!" said Larry, in a loud voice; "if ye stir I'll shoot!"

To the amazement of the youth, the Indian replied in their own tongue:

"No shoot—no hurt Arqu-wao—me good Indian."

"Begorra, but ye're not acting like one," was the comment of Larry, who now rose to his feet. "What were ye trying to do, anyway?"

Wharton imitated the action of his companion, and said, in an undertone:

"Don't hurt the poor fellow."

"That depinds on himsilf," was the resolute response. "I spared him once, and he mustn't go to heaving any more rocks at us, for he's too handy at the business."

The Indian, at the moment of turning around, had placed his hand on his tomahawk, but snatched it away as though it had suddenly become red hot. He was a picture of abject fear, and trembled in every limb. Had he known enough to wheel about and run, he would have been safe, for neither of the boys had the least desire to harm him. But, to use a modern expression, they had the drop on him.

"Keep an eye on him," said Larry, "while I load my gun."

The Indian must have experienced peculiar emotions when he received the proof that it was an empty weapon that had brought him to terms. Larry proceeded to reload his rifle in a deliberate fashion, while Wharton covered their prisoner with his own gun.

It was while this proceeding was under way that the couple noticed that the sun was almost in the horizon. The long eventful night was ended, and they were close upon more stirring events.

"He calls himself Arqu-wao," said Wharton. "I wonder what the name means?"

"I'm thinking it means an Indian half-scared to death; but, Whart, what'll we do wid him, now that we've got him?"

"That's what puzzles me. If we hadn't waked up just as we did we never would have awaked at all, and if we let him go he'll probably sneak up behind us and drive an arrow through each before we know our danger."

"Let's keep him a prisoner."

"How will we manage it?"

"I'll fix it."

Arqu-wao was still motionless, looking as if he expected to be punished with death for his attempt upon the lives of the youths. As Larry spoke, he strode toward him with a stern face and manner. The Indian instantly began pleading in the most pitiful manner for his life. The youth was tender-hearted, and said, kindly:

"Be good Indian and we won't hurt, but let me have the tomahawk."

The implement was meekly handed over.

"Now the knife."

That followed the other; and with all the gravity that Larry could assume he shoved the handle of the first weapon between the waistband of his trousers and shirt.

"Whart, you can take charge of that," he added, passing the knife to his companion, who readily disposed of it about his person.

The most dangerous implement of all still remained in the hands of the Shawanoe, and the captors were perplexed for the moment as to how it was to be disposed of. It would have been easy to render it useless, and the arrows might have been cast down the ravine, but they hesitated to take that step.

The same thought was in the minds of the lads. Arqu-wao might be used as a friend and an ally in the danger which still threatened, and, if so, he would need some weapon to be of avail in emergencies.

Wharton now advanced and spoke:

"Arqu-wao, do you know where the block-house is?"

The expression of the Indian's face showed that he did not comprehend the question.

"Big house—fort—place where white men are?"

"Yes—me know—me been dere," he replied, nodding his head vigorously.

"It's off yonder, isn't it?" inquired Wharton, pointing with his hand in the supposed direction.

Arqu-wao shook his head.

"Not dere—off dere," he said, indicating a point of the compass fully forty-five degrees removed from the first.

"I wonder if he's right?" said Wharton, doubtfully, turning toward his companion.

"Yes, for he's so scared he's sure to play square for a time."

"Very well," said Wharton, looking toward the Indian. "Lead the way; if you go wrong, we shoot, we kill."

"Arqu-wao go right—he go right—he good Shawanoe—broder of Blazing Arrow."

The latter remark was startling to the boys, and they looked inquiringly at each other, wondering what he could mean.

"Begorra, if he's a brother to him, it's a bad ricommindation to himsilf," remarked Larry.

"He may be the flower of the flock, but we will keep sharp watch on him."

The Indian, now that he understood that he had chance for his life, lost most of the fear that had filled him from the moment he was arrested in the very act of committing a crime.

He showed his knowledge of what was said to him by walking, not parallel to the course of the torrent, which the boys had intended to take for their guidance, but diverging at quite a sharp angle from it. Neither of the youths could be satisfied whether this was favorable or not, but there was logic in Larry's theory that their guide was so frightened that he would act honestly, at least for a time.

If he was doing so, he was doing them a great favor, for, instead of walking a number of miles down the gorge, and then returning over the same route, this distance would be saved by "cutting across lots," with the probability of eluding the hostile Shawanoes waiting in ambush. Whether such was the fact or not must be left to future developments.

The sun was now fairly above the horizon, and the day promised to be as clear and sunshiny as the preceding one. The hearty meal, eaten the night before, and the rest, enabled the boys to continue their brisk walk for hours without fatigue. They would have been glad to keep straight on, if it were possible, until they reached the block-house.

When they leaped across a small brook of cold, sparkling water, Wharton called the guide to wait for a minute. He was walking about a rod in advance, glancing sharply to the right and left, and even among the branches of the trees, as though he suspected danger lurking there. He never once looked back while thus engaged until he heard the sharp summons of Wharton. Then he stopped short and turned half way round, and stood like a statue.

There was something suggestive in his attitude, for his right hand was hidden from the sight of the boys. If he chose he could slide it up over his breast, stealthily withdraw an arrow from the quiver, and fit it to his bow-string without detection. The launching of the missile would be done so quickly that no shot from either rifle could anticipate it. But there were two boys, and this would frustrate any such purpose, unless one should place himself at such disadvantage that he could not rise and recover his gun before the firing of the second arrow.

"Keep an eye on him," whispered Wharton; "I don't like his actions."