Leaving the characters of our story already mentioned for a brief time, let us turn our attention to the devoted little band of fugitives who were flying through the gauntlet of death to Wayne’s protecting guns.

While Harvey Catlett was conversing with Little Moccasin, watched with a jealous eye by the tall scout, a large but light boat was nearing the foot of the famous Maumee rapids.

It kept in the center of the stream, as if its occupants believed that danger lurked along the shadowed banks, and consultation was carried on in whispers.

The boat thus slowly ascending the stream contained eight persons. Four were men, strong, active and with determined visages; the others consisted of a matron, a girl of eighteen, and two children whose ages were respectively twelve and fourteen.

Abel Merriweather, the matron’s husband and the father of the interesting ones grouped about her, was the oldest person in the craft; his male companions were George Darling, his nephew, an Englishman called John Darknight, and a young American named Oscar Parton.

To Darknight the navigation of the Maumee was well known, as he had spent much time upon its bosom, and he was serving the Merriweathers in the capacity of guide.

Abel Merriweather, a little headstrong and fearful, had overruled the counsel of true friends. He believed that his family was in danger while the roof of the cabin near the mouth of the Maumee sheltered it. The muttered growls of war made him timorous, and he saw no safety anywhere save behind the bayonets of Wayne. Therefore, in company with his nephew and Oscar Parton, who was his daughter Kate’s acknowledged suitor, and with John Darknight for a guide, he had embarked upon the perilous attempt of reaching Fort Defiance with his loved ones.

“Of course we cannot stem the rapids,” the guide said in response to a question from young Darling. “Our portage must now begin.”

As he spoke the boat began to approach the left bank of the stream.

“We are nearing the wrong bank,” said Parton.

“Of course we are,” the settler replied, noticing the boat’s course, and he turned upon the guide:

“What does this mean?” he demanded, with his usual brusqueness.

“Nothing dangerous, sir. You see that we can best journey up the left bank of the river. The Indians are massing in the south.”

“But I have been advised by the scouts of Mad Anthony to go up the right bank.”

“You have?”

“Yes, sir. If I understand you, you have not been in these parts for a month, while my informants and advisers were here but a week since.”

The guide did not reply for a minute, during which the boat continued toward the dusky shore, for his hand was upon the rudder.

“Pardon me, John,” the settler said; “but I feel constrained to listen to the scouts, one of whom was William Wells himself.”

“Wells, eh?” said Darknight, with a sneer. “Between you and I, Merriweather, I would not trust that Injun-bred fellow farther than the length of my nose.”

“I consider him a true man,” said Kate, the daughter, who had overheard the latter part of the conversation between her father and the guide.

“He doesn’t look like a rogue, and I am sure that he would not advise us wrongly on purpose.”

John Darknight did not reply to the girl’s remarks; but relapsed into sullenness, and doggedly turned the prow of the boat to the other shore.

“What do you think now?” whispered George Darling in the settler’s ear.

“I really do not know, George,” was the reply, as an expression of fear settled over the father’s face. “I trust in God; but we are on dangerous water. Do not be so suspicious, boy, for you make me tremble for the safety of my dear ones.”

No further words were interchanged by uncle and nephew, and the boat touched the ghostly shore amid deep stillness of voice and tongue.

But the ceaseless song of the wild rapids fell upon the voyagers’ ears, and the first stars were burnishing the dancing waves with silver.

The debarkation took place at once, and the craft was drawn from the water and prepared for the sleeping place of the settler’s family. A day of hard pulling against the stream had ended, and the travelers proposed to enjoy the needed repose. The boat was large enough to contain couches for Mrs. Merriweather and the children, while the men would sleep and watch at intervals on the ground.

No fire was kindled on the bank, but a cold supper was eaten in silence, and not long thereafter the settler’s household lay almost hidden in the boat. Star after star came out in the firmament above, and the gentle winds of night sighed among the leaves; now and then the plash of some amphibious animal disturbed the stillness, but excited no comment, though the noise caused an occasional lift of the head and a brief moment of silent inspection.

The camp was just over a little rise in the river bank, and the starlit water was hidden from the eyes of the watch, who, for the first part of the night, was the settler himself.

He stood against a tree, wakeful, but full of thought, keeping guard over the precious lives committed to his charge. The boat containing his family was quite near, and the forms of his three male companions looked like logs on the darkened ground.

He did not watch the latter, for suspicion never entered his head, and he did not see that one was rolling over and over, gradually leaving the bivouac, and disappearing. Immersed in thought, but quick to note a movement on the part of his sleeping family, Abel Merriweather let the hours pass over his head.

At last the plash of the muskrat no longer alarmed him; the singular cry of the night hawk that came from the woods across the stream did not cause him to cock his rifle. A bat might have flapped her wings in his face without disturbing him. Despite the peril of the moment and the great responsibility resting upon him, Abel Merriweather was asleep!

The fatigue of the past two days’ voyage, and the almost sleepless nights had told upon his constitution. He had struggled against the somnolent god, but in vain; and at last passed into slumberland unconsciously and overcome.

And while he slept there was a noise in the water which was not made by a night rat. Something dark, like a great ball, was approaching the camp from the northern bank of the river, and the strong arms that propelled it gave the waves thousands of additional gleams.

It came towards the camp with the rapidity of a good swimmer, and at length a huge figure emerged like a Newfoundland dog from the water.

It was an Indian!

For a moment he stood on the bank and panted like an animal, then a low bird-call dropped from his lips, and a second form came from the shadow of a fallen tree.

The twain met at the edge of the water, and with signs of recognition.

“Oskaloo cross the river,” said the savage, in the Wyandot tongue. “White guide break him promise, and land on wrong side.”

“Couldn’t help it,” was the reply. “The old man is doing just what Wells has told him was best. I tried to run the boat over, and bless me if I don’t pay ’im for his stubbornness yet.”

“How many?” asked the Indian.

“Seven.”

“White girl along?”

“Yes; but recollect what I have said about her.”

“Oskaloo never forget.”

“Is the White Whirlwind over there?” and the speaker glanced across the river.

“No; him with Little Turtle, gettin’ ready to fight the Blacksnake.”

“That is good. Now, Oskaloo, go back. To-morrow night at this time come when you hear the night hawk’s cry.”

“All come?”

“Yes, all; but meet me first.”

The savage nodded and turned towards the water, and the next moment plunged almost noiselessly beneath the waves.

As he put off from the shore a hand dropped upon sleeping Abel Merriweather’s arm, and roused him with a start.

“Hist!” said a voice in a warning whisper. “Father, you have been asleep. We are going to be massacred. John Darknight, our guide, is a traitor.”

The settler was thoroughly awake before the last terrible sentence was completed, and he looked into the white face of his little son Carl, whom he thought was sleeping beside his mother in the boat.