The state herald., 1914-10-16

| "Yes. monsieur" quietly. and he
knows what I am. He Ii not reckless
enough to offer me insult; did he do 30
he would be torn limb from limb. You
do not know my people, but Simon
Girty does. do not fear him. yet l
would rather 90 with you"
7 cannot consent; 1t would cost me
my commission to take you. must
say good.by."
She held out her hand
"Good-by. monsieur"
l left her standing there, slender.
dark shadow in the starlight, feeling
yet the frm grip OF her fingers. and
seeing yet in memory the upturned
face. That she really meant what she
said SO confidently I did not truly be-
lieve. Her threat of travelling in com
pany with Girty. or even alone. was
merely uttered in the vague hope that
It might influence me. She could not
be In earnest In spite Of her assertion
was not altogether convinced that
she was an Indian. a Wyandot She
was so young. so girlish. so soft Of
voice and civilized OF speech. l could
not associate her with savages. or
those dark haunted woods. even
laughed grimly to myself, as went
down the blum. at tho thought
| Tho boat was in the dark shadows
OF the bank. = sizable canoe, three In
dians-frtendly Dslawares-grasping
the paddles and kneeling In the bot
tom. and two men holding 1t steady
against the current. One Of these, tall
and straight, would be Brady. but the
other. = mere shadow In the dark, was
unacceptable.
You 20 with usf' ! asked.
He Strengthened mp. with the motion
Of q salute.
Yah. der captain he says 20, don't
idf" the words strongly Dutch.
"Oh. yes. my man; you are the cook.
10 there an s1tra paddle In there.
boys1"
An Indian voice sruntsd . response.
holding 1t UP.
An right; take It and get in. What
II your namei"
Johann Schultz"
| | remembered him. private in
Browns company. - poor . choice a.
could have been made for such an sx-
psdition. but It was too late now for
an exchange.
In with you, Schultz" ordered
sharply. behind the last Indian. and
bend your back; this IL to Be NO pleas
urs trip after Wild nowsrs. All ready,
Brady"
He stepped into the bow Of the
craft. without answering. and crouched
down. his long ride showing above his
shoulder. I pushed on. and found
room at the stern. There was cash
Of paddles In the dark water. and, al
most noisslessly. we swept out into the
stream. For the space OF q mile, per.
haps. We skirted the clearing, the river
. stream Of silver under the stars. the
land on either side. disngured BY
blackened tree stumps. making desc
late picture. Then the canoe slipped
silently Into the forest waterway, the
dense woods on either bank obscuring
the stars, and plunging US into DARK
ness. Brady bent over the sharp bow,
his eyes watchful for any obstacle, for
any swirl OF the current. and I could
faintly distinguish his voice in low
spoken warning to the Indian paddlsrs.
We were hemmed In by wilderness,
the narrow stream bordered BY great
forest trees. with branches over.hans.
Ing the current, and huge roots pro
jectinE from the mossy banks.
There was littls or no underbrush;
indeed. a. tho light grew stronger. the
vista stretched far away between the
knarled trunks OF oak and hickory to
where the land rose In low bluff. II
was q somber acene OF xray and green
colorins, save that here and there were
clusters of wild flowers Yielding q
brighter hue OF blue and yellow to the
duil background. The silence was pro.
FOUND. the river noiseless, except n
tho waters occasionally foamed over
some obstacle In their path. or mur.
INJURED softly about the sharp PROV OF
tho canoe. High up above the enrly
morning air nuttered the leaves, yet so
gently that no sound OF rustlinx
reached me. The woods themselves
were dcsolate. apparently uninhabited,
without even n neetinE wild animal TO
break their loneliness.
] sat up. rubbing my cramped i,mbs.
and stared about down the forest
aisisn, Impressed by the sombernsss
OF our surroundings. yct with every
faculty aroused. The Dutehman's ian.
xuid movements. and the perspira,ion
streaming down his nee, told Of a hard
nights work