The appearance of Jethro Juggens surprised Boone and Kenton as they sat on the fallen tree, for they were looking for nothing of the kind. When he announced that he was the bearer of important tidings, he naturally became an object of increased interest, for the fate of the little party of pioneers was the problem that the two great rangers were trying to solve.

"You bring important news," repeated Kenton, who, as the reader already knows, was quite partial to the negro, for, with all his stupidity, he had given proof of astonishing skill in marksmanship. "What is your news?"

"I's very well," replied Jethro, taking his seat beside the men on the log, removing his cap, and fanning his shining countenance.

"That being so," continued Kenton, "what's the news you brought?"

"Haben't I jes' told yo'? I's bery well, 'cepting dat I's hungry, dough I can't make none ob de folks blebe it. Howsumeber, I guess dey blebes it, but dey don't keer."

"Haven't you any other news for us?" asked Boone, looking sternly at Jethro, who did not note, or, noting perhaps, did not care for his displeasure.

"Nuffin else in 'tickler, 'cept dat de folks am also well."

"That is some kind of news, though only what we expected. Nothing has happened to any of 'em?" inquired Kenton.

"Nuffin dat I reckomembers."

"Where are they?"

"Don't you know?" asked Jethro, in turn, looking around in surprise that he should put the question, when he had parted with his friends only comparatively a short time before. "Whar do you 'spose dey am, Mr. Kenton?"

"I know where they ought to be," said the ranger, gravely; "they ought to be about a half a mile or so down the river, picking their way through the woods to this tree where we're setting; but I didn't know but what something had happened."

"Didn't I just tole you dat nuffin didn't happen?"

"Are the folks coming up the river towards us?"

"Dey were settin' still on some rocks on the ground when I left."

"What's that for?"

"I 'spose dey're tired; want to rest."

Kenton looked significantly at Boone. Jethro's theory would not answer. There was no member of the little party of pioneers, not even Agnes Altman, nor Mabel Ashbridge, only ten years of age, who would become so wearied by twice as long a tramp as to feel the need of rest.

"Did you come yourself, or were you sent ahead to see us?"

"I come myself, dat is, nobody fotched me on his back; but Mr. Hastings subgested dat I come, by saying if I didn't he would kick me."

Weber Hastings was the sturdy member of the escort party who, in the absence of Boone, had charge of them.

Jethro Juggens began to display more sense in his words than he had yet shown. He became more serious in his manner.

"De way ob it was dis: One ob de men from de block-house had been scoutin' frough de woods, and he come back and tole Mr. Hastings what he seed——"

"What was it?" interrupted Kenton.

"Being as he didn't tole me, yo'll hab to obscoose me from answerin' dat question, but I was invited to go on ahead and to tell yo' folks dat Mr. Hastings wanted one ob yo' or bofe ob yo' to come back again, as he had somethin' he wanted to see yo' about."

Neither Boone nor Kenton made any comment on the singular course of Hastings in selecting Jethro Juggens to bear such a message, when, among all the male members of the company probably there was not one that was less qualified.

"I don't know what it means," said Boone, rising from the tree, "but it means something. You had better go back with this simpleton at once."

"And you?"

"I'll push ahead and larn what I kin. It won't make any difference whether I'm with you or not, if there's a fight coming, but I'll do my best to jine you. I'm likely to run onto something ahead that we oughter know."

"Do you expect to use any signallin' for me?" asked Kenton, who had also risen to his feet.

"Don't see that there'll be any need, but if there is you'll understand it. You and me are too used to each other, Simon, to make any slip up——"

Kenton raised his hand and smiled. While the words were in the mouth of Boone, the soft, faint cawing of the crow was heard for the fifth time.

At the same moment two interesting facts were impressed upon the rangers.

The call did not sound half so far away as in any one of the former instances, and it came from a throat which essayed it for the first time in the hearing of Boone and Kenton.

"Now we know there's three of 'em," remarked the latter.

"They're wondering why me and the rest of 'em aren't pushing faster through the woods. But off with you, Simon; we're losing time."

Without another word these two great pioneers separated, the elder moving silently among the trees to the eastward, that is, up the Ohio and toward Rattlesnake Gulch, now a place of the first importance to all concerned. He did not look around to note what was done by the other.

But Kenton had taken only a few steps when he stopped and looked back.

Jethro Juggens was standing by the fallen tree with his gun on his shoulder and glancing inquiringly from the disappearing figure of Boone to that of Kenton, only a few yards away.

"What's the matter?" asked the latter. "What are you waiting for?"

"Which ob yo' folks wants me, Mr. Kenton?"

"I don't think either one of us will die of a broken heart if we lose you; but come along with me."

"Sure Mr. Boone won't feel bad if I don't go wid him?"

"Come along, keep close to me and don't make any noise, for the woods is full of the varmints."

Enough has been told for the reader to understand the situation. The Altman and Ashbridge families were threading their way through the Kentucky wilderness, from the clearing where a cabin had been erected some weeks before, to the block-house ten miles distant and on the opposite side of the river. They were escorted by a number of rangers and scouts from the block-house, under the charge of Daniel Boone, and sent thither by Captain Bushwick, who discovered the imminent peril of the families after they had declined the invitation to tarry at the block-house, and had passed beyond and down the Ohio in the flatboat.

Kenton was not mistaken in his theory about the return journey of himself and companion. Not the slightest sign of danger appeared, and in a comparatively short time they came upon their friends, who, from their appearance, might well have been taken for a picnic party on an outing of their own.

What more inviting opening could the crouching Shawanoes ask than was here presented to them? From their lurking places among the surrounding trees they could pour in a frightfully destructive volley that would stretch many of the helpless party lifeless on the ground.

And why did they not do so? Because they knew the cost to them. Those hunters and rangers were used to the Indian method of fighting. If the redskins could approach nigh enough to fire before detection, there would be enough white men left to make many of them bite the dust ere they could get beyond reach of the deadly rifles.

No; in the estimation of the Shawanoes there was a plan open to them that was a thousandfold more preferable.

Rattlesnake Gulch was the beau ideal place for an ambuscade, for it not only offered a certain chance for the destruction of the entire party of whites, but afforded a perfect protection against any unpleasant consequences to the ambuscaders.