Harvey Catlett and his companion were received with great joy at the camp near the river bank.

The fugitives took new hope with their appearance, and seemed to think that the remainder of the journey to Wayne would be accomplished without further trouble.

Mrs. Merriweather so expressed herself, when the young woodsman shook his head and replied:

“We cannot save you in and of ourselves,” he said; “but we will do all we can. The trails to Wayne’s army are dark and perilous. I do not seek to keep anything back.”

“That is right, sir,” said the father quickly. “My wife is prone to exaggerate good fortune. I do not want her to remain deceived. I comprehend the situation, and am prepared for it.”

“That is right,” said Wolf Cap. “In these times one must know something about Indian affairs.”

“Now that we have exchanged our guide for you gentlemen, I am sure that our fortunes will mend.”

“Where is the guide of whom you have spoken?” asked Catlett, addressing the head of the family.

“Across the river, I suppose,” Abel Merriweather answered with a smile.

“Deserted?”

“Yes.”

“Just like the worthless guides of these days. It is a wonder that he did not get you into the Indian’s power.”

“He attempted to, but failed.”

“Just so.”

At Wolf Cap’s request Merriweather related the attempt made to get the boat ashore, and the two scouts listened attentively to the recital.

“Now, how come he to leave you this morning? Let us know all, Mr. Merriweather.”

The story of Little Moccasin’s appearance in the camp, and John Darknight’s hasty desertion was then told.

“Now what do you think of the girl?” the young scout said in a low tone to Wolf Cap.

There was a tinge of triumph in the youth’s voice.

“What have I already told you about her?” was the reply. “I allow that her action is strange, but those Indian witches can outdo anything in the woods. I have my opinion, and shall stick to it. Of course you will let me do this, boy.”

“Certainly, Abner. I shall do nothing to embarrass you in it; but it puzzles me because you can see no good in the girl.”

“I’m sorry, boy—indeed I am. I wish I could tell you what I really think about some things; but not now, if you please. I’m going down to the river. Talk to the folks here; you know what to say. We are here to take them to Mad Anthony or die in the attempt.”

Having finished, the tall scout withdrew from the little group and betook himself to the water’s edge, shaded by the leafy boughs of a giant tree.

Harvey Catlett glanced over his shoulder at the retreating figure and then addressed the fugitives with a smile.

“He is a mystery; one of the many that inhabit the backwoods. Why, he does not place any confidence in Little Moccasin; he seems to hate her, and yet I believe she has never lifted a finger of harm against him. But we have unaccountable antagonisms, and here in the woods one finds them plentiful.”

“But who can hate that dear girl?” said Kate Merriweather’s musical voice. “I could easily call her sister, and live forever at her side. She is not an Indian, though she calls her mother Madgitwa. She cannot be treacherous to our people.”

“Thanks,” said Harvey Catlett, bowing to the fair young speaker. “I rejoice to hear you speak thus of the girl.”

“I fear that Kate is thus partial because of her pretty eyes. I must confess that I do not like her. Her desertion means no good to us.”

The last speaker was Carl Merriweather, ever ready to join in a conversation where any one crossed swords with his opinions.

“We will not argue the matter now,” Harvey said, seeing the youth’s flushed cheeks, and not liking to incur the displeasure of any of the fugitives.

“Perhaps we had best not,” responded Carl with a slight sneer and a meaning glance at his friend Darling. “Let us drop the subject, nor call it up again. I have my opinion, you yours, Mr Catlett.”

The young scout turned from the boy and began to talk in a confidential tone to the settler, which seemed to be a signal for a general disbanding of the group, and the two were left alone.

“It is deuced queer,” Carl Merriweather hastened to say to George Darling. “He is taking her part, and I am satisfied that she is full of treachery.”

“I am of the same opinion, and that he, one of Wayne’s scouts, should defend her, is beyond my comprehension. She is drawing him on, and it may be that she really loves him. But it looks to me as if she were using him for a purpose. That scene between her and our guide was too theatrical to be genuine. They overdid it. It was a preconcerted affair, for it gave Darknight a chance to show his hand and get away. They are together now, my word for it.”

The boy shared his companion’s opinion concerning the witch of the woods, and they formed a cabal against her beneath the tree whose shadows fell upon the murmuring Maumee.

By and by Wolf Cap came up from the river and rejoined the occupants of the camp.

“He has seen something; look at his white face,” whispered Abel Merriweather to his nephew.

“No ghosts, at any rate, for one does not see them at this hour,” was the reply. “He will probably enlighten us.”

But the scout did not do so, but talked about the journey and Wayne’s army, and the pallor gradually left his face.

The noonday meal was discussed, after which the journey was resumed.

As the woods were not very clear of underbrush, the progress was of necessity quite slow, and at nightfall the party halted in a picturesque ravine through which in years gone by some woodland stream had poured its waters into the Maumee.

Wild, luxuriant grass covered the bed of the place, and the bank on either side was clothed in that verdure which so beautifies the woods in summer. It was a fit camping place for the night, for the mouth of the ravine was hidden by a fallen tree, and a fire could not have been noticed from the river.

Darkness settled rapidly down upon the camp, and Harvey Catlett tore himself from talkative Kate Merriweather, and prepared to guard her while she slept in the boat.

He took up a position at the mouth of the ravine and near the river. Not far away Wolf Cap kept his vigils, and little Carl Merriweather, determined to be of some service, kept sentry at the old hunter’s side.

Brighter and brighter grew the stars in the heavens that bent lovingly above the river, and the night winds stirred the leaves with a sweet melody.

Now and then the cry of some night bird or animal would startle the sentries, but they would soon turn therefrom and listen for more important sounds.

Harvey Catlett was on the alert, and his ears at length caught a sound that roused him. It seemed the peculiar tread of the panther, dying away like the step of the beast, and recurring no more. It was in vain that he listened for a repetition of the sound. The very silence told him that he had permitted something important to escape investigation.

“It may not be too late to follow yet,” he said to himself. “I am a fool that I permitted——”

The strange cry that the night hawk sends forth when frightened from its perch, fell startlingly upon his ears, and he severed his sentence.

“That is my panther!” he said. “There is mischief afoot.”

We have said that he was near the river.

The cry, or signal, as the young scout hastened to interpret the sound, seemed to emanate from a spot not forty feet away, and with the skill of the experienced trailer, he glided toward it.

The cry was repeated, then there was a response which seemed to have crossed the river, and that in turn was answered from the very shore which the daring scout was noiselessly approaching.

All at once he halted and hugged the dark ground, for the night caller was before him.

It was not a hawk, nor was it the stealthy panther that greeted young Catlett’s gaze; but the figure of an Indian!

Ready to spring upon the redskin, the scout resolved to witness the result of the bird calls.

He expected to see several boats cross the river for an attack upon the camp; but was doomed to disappointment.

A sound to his left drew his attention in that direction.

The Indian heard it, rose and started toward the river. At the edge of the water he was joined by a figure that carried a burthen. The scout could not distinguish it in the uncertain light.

A few whispered words passed between the twain who had stepped into a boat, and Catlett was about to try the effect of a shot, when a startling shriek rose from the ravine.

It was a woman’s voice!

The occupants of the boat heard it, and shoved the craft from shore. Out into the stream it shot like an arrow from a bow.

Harvey Catlett sprang to his feet and fired at the disappearing boat.

A wild cry followed the shot, and the sound was still echoing in the wood when Abel Merriweather reached his side.

It did not need the settler’s white face to tell the scout what had happened. Mrs. Merriweather’s shriek had already told him.

Kate was gone!