The citizen. (Frederick City, Md.) 1895-1923, 1914-05-08

YES, monsieur" quietly, and he
knows what l am. He is not reckless
enough to offer me insult; did he do so
he would be torn limb from limb. You
do not know my people, but Simon
Girty does. l do not fear him, yet l
would rather go with you"
Il cannot consent; it 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, a slender,
dark shadow in the starlight, feeling
yet the firm grip of her fingers, and
seeing yet in memory the upturned
face. That she really meant what she
said so confidently l 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
1t might influence me. She could not
be In earnest. In spite of her assertion
l was not altogether convinced that
she was an Indian, a Wyandot. She
was 30 young, so girlish, SO soft of
voice and civilized of speech, could
not associate her with savages, or
those dark haunted woods. l even
laughed grimly to myself, as l went
down the bluff. at the thought.
The boat was in the dark shadows
of the bank, stable canoe, three In
dians-friendly Delawares-grasping
the paddles and kneeling In the bot
tom, and two men holding it steady
against the current. One of these, tall
and straight, would be Brady, but the
other, mere shadow in the dark, was
unacceptable.
You go with us?" l asked
He Strengthened up, with the motion
of salute.
yah, der captain he says so, don't
id?" the words strongly Dutch.
"Oh, yes. my man; you are the cook.
Is there an extra paddle in there.
boys?"
An Indian voice grunted a response,
holding it up.
"All right; take it, and get in. What
is your name?"
Johann Schultz"
remembered him, private In
Browns company, as poor a choice as
could have been made for such an ex-
petition, but it was too late now for
an exchange.
I'm with you, Schultz" l ordered
sharply, behind the last Indian, and
bend your back; this is to be no pleas
ure trip after wild flowers. All ready,
Brady?"
He stepped into the bow of the
craft, without answering, and crouched
down, his long rife showing above his
shoulder. l pushed off, and found
room at the stern. There was a fash
of paddles in the dark water, and, al
most noiselessly, we swept out into the
stream. For the space of a mile, per-
haps, we skirted the clearing, the river
stream of silver under the stars, the
land on either side, disfgured 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 l could
family distinguish his voice In low
spoken warning to the Indian paddlers
We were hemmed in by wilderness,
the narrow stream bordered by great
forest trees, with branches over-hang-
ing the current, and huge roots pro-
Jecting from the messy banks.
There was little or no underbrush.
indeed, as the light grew stronger. the
vista stretched far away between the
gnarled trunks of oak and hickory to
where the land rose in low bluff. II
was a somber scene of gray and green
coloring, save that here and there were
clusters Of wild flowers Yielding a
brighter hue of blue and yellow to the
dull background. The silence was pro.
found, the river noiseless, except as
the waters occasionally foamed over
some obstacle In their path. or mur-
INJURED softly about the sharp PROV of
the canoe. High up above the early
morning air fiuttered the leaves. vet SO
gently that no sound of rustIing
reached me. The woods themselves
were desolate, apparently uninhabited.
without even a f1eeting wild animal to
break their loneliness.
l sat up, rubbing my cramped limbs
and stared about down the forest
aisles, impressed by the sombernesS
of our surroundings. yet with every
faculty aroused. The Dutchman's Ian
guild movements, and the perspiration
streaming down his face, told Of hard
nights work.