At the end of five or ten minutes Ned Clinton, with his eyes fixed upon the broad, flat rock, was sure he saw the figure of a man behind it. It was only the top of his head, thrust a little above the edge of the stone, as if the stranger were seeking a view of the one who was watching him without his purpose being detected. The slouched hat and the eyes and forehead were in plain sight for a minute or two, when they sank down again and all was as before.

"If he is a friend," thought Ned, "he is very timid, or he has a queer way of showing his good will."

The distance between the two was too great for either to do anything in the way of shooting, but the youth was inclined to send a rifle shot in that direction, as a challenge for the strange craft to come out and show its colors.

He called down to Jo again, to watch for the approach of any foe, for he was compelled to give close attention to this particular stranger, and another might steal up beneath the very tree without the one in the branches detecting his danger. In this way nearly an hour passed without any change in the situation, and the fugitives began to look for the return of the Mohawk, he having promised not to stay away long.

"I wish he would come," said the watchman, to himself, "for it wouldn't take him a great while to find out what that fellow is driving at. I don't see that I have much chance of learning without his help."

If there was any opportunity for the stranger to withdraw, Ned would have suspected the man had done so, but he was satisfied it was impossible for him to elude him in that way, and consequently he must still be behind the rock. Clinton at last grew tired and called to Jo that he was about to fire his gun, to compel the stranger to let him know who he was and what he wanted. Before doing so, he scanned the wood in his immediate vicinity, fearing that some other questionable character had stolen near enough to take a shot at him.

He was relieved, however, when after the closest search he was unable to find any cause for fear. There seemed to be no grounds for further delay, and pointing his weapon at the spot where he had last seen the head, he took a quick aim and pulled the trigger. It was a strange coincidence that at this very instant the man was in the act of rising to view again, and the poorly aimed shot, even when the distance was so great, came near proving fatal to the stranger. The smoke was scarcely wafted from the muzzle of the rifle, when the man sprang up from behind the rock, and standing erect, called out in a voice that penetrated far beyond the point aimed at."What the mischief are you trying to do?"

"I was trying to make you show yourself," replied the amazed Ned Clinton, "and that seemed to be the only way to do it."

"Well, I can't admit that I fancy that style of saying how-de-do to a fellow. Why don't you sing out to him and ask him what he is after?"

As the individual asked this question in the same loud voice, he unhesitatingly stepped from behind his concealment and began walking toward the one that had used him as a target. Ned accepted this proceeding as a proffer of good will, and although he was not quite satisfied, yet he began descending the tree, so as to be on the ground to meet him. He had barely time to acquaint Jo and Rosa Minturn with what had occurred, when the stranger appeared at the base of the tree and seemed not a little surprised to meet another young man with his handsome sister.

The new-comer was a man apparently in middle life, with a yellow, shaggy beard, reaching nearly to his eyes, dressed in rather tattered garments, that had more of the look of the farmer than the military about them. His face, so far as it could be seen, was by no means a pleasing one; the eyes were of a gray color, but with a strange, restless glitter. His appearance would lead one to set him down as a vagabond settler—one who was so lazy that he spent the greater part of his time in hunting the woods for game, or searching the streams for fish.

He was sharply scrutinized as he came to view, while he, in turn, keenly surveyed the fugitives.

If he were a settler, as he appeared to be, there was not one of the three who remembered seeing him before. To Jo Minturn there came a faint impression that he had met him at some time, though he could not recall where or when it was. But the stranger quickly recovered from the temporary embarrassment he showed upon finding himself confronted by three, where he expected to see only one person.

"Well, now, I am glad to meet you," he said, in a hearty way that suggested the Mr. Perkins whom they had met when on the other side of the river. "I cotched sight of that young man climbing a tree, though I couldn't satisfy myself for a long time whether he was a friend or foe. I suppose you know me, don't you?"

Ned answered for the others:

"I have no recollection of having ever seen you before."

"Why, I remember you very well. You are Ned Clinton, and that young gentleman is Jo Minturn, with his sister Rosa."

"You are certainly right, as far as that goes, but you are none the less a stranger to us for all that!"

"My name is Worrell, and I am a settler, living about a mile up the river. I have often seen your father—both of them—at Forty Fort."

"That, I suppose, is where you have met us, also?"

"Yes, and at your homes near there. I do a great deal of hunting, and have sold Mr. Minturn and Mr. Clinton a good deal of game."

"How is it you didn't recognize me when you saw me in the tree?"

"I couldn't make sure, because I couldn't get a fair look at you."

"How is it, too, that you are abroad at this time, when the Indians and Tories are playing havoc in the valley?"

"That's just the reason," was the ready response of Worrell. "A party of them came so near my home that I had to dig out. That was day before yesterday, and I have been roaming about the woods ever since, not daring to go back home again."

"What did they do with your family?"

"I haven't got any family, so there was nothing done with them."

"What were you doing when you observed me?"

"I had just reached that rock and had sat down to rest myself, when I was scared by happening to look toward you and seeing you climbing the tree. I have been dodging the redskins and Tories all of two days, and have had pretty sharp work, I can tell you, and a good many narrow escapes. I had three scrimmages with redskins, and came so near losing my scalp in the last case that I have been mighty careful ever since as to how I went up to a stranger and shook hands with him till I was pretty sure he was a friend, which is why I waited so long with you."

"Well, you were cautious, indeed, but perhaps it was as well, for one can't be too careful at such a time as this."

"Then I take it you're dodging the same parties that I am?" said Worrell, taking a seat on the log, as if he meant to unite forces with the little party.

"Yes," replied Ned Clinton, willing to tell their new companion all their purposes, and glad of his company. "Yes, we set out for Wilkesbarre, but there are so many Indians in the path that we find the task a hard one."

"Are you alone?"

"Not exactly," was the answer. "We have an Indian scout with us."

"Who is he? Lena-Wingo, the Mohawk?"

"The same."It may have been fancy on the part of Rosa but at that moment she saw an expression flit over the small part of the man's face that was visible, that she thought betokened disappointment at these words.