Fulton County tribune. (Wauseon, Ohio) 1883-1925, 1914-05-01

knows what 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
would rather go with you
Il cannot consent; it would cost me
my commission to take you. l must
say good-by."
She held out her hand.
"Good-by, monsieur
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
| 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, 1 could
not associate her with savages, or
those dark haunted woods. 1 even
laughed grimly to myself, as l went
down the bluff, at the thought.
| The boat was in the dark shadows
of the bank, a sizable canoe, three In
dians-friendly Delawares-graspin
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
unrecognizable
you go with us ?' I 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 response,
holding it up.
@All right; take it, and get in. What
is your name?"
Johann Schultz"
l remembered him, private in
Browns company, as poor choice as
could have been made for such an ex.
pedition, but it was too late now for
an exchange.
in with you, Schultz" ordered
sharply, behind the last Iadian, 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 fash
of paddles in the dark water, and, al
most noiselessly. we swept out into the
| stream. For the space of mile, per
| haps, we skirted the clearing, the river
a stream of silver under the stars, the
land on either side, disfgured by
blackened treesstumps, making desc
late picture. Then the canoe slipped
silently into the forest waterway, the
dense woods on either bank obscurine
the stars, and plunging us into dark
ness. Brady bent over the sharp bow
his eyes watchful for any obstacle, fol
; any swirl of the current, and l coulC
family distinguish his voice in low
spoken warning to the Indian paddlers
We were hemmed in by wilderness
the narrow stream bordered by grea
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 Eight grew stronger, tn,
vista stretched far away between tn,
gnaried trunks Of oak and hickory tt
where the land rose in low bluff. /
was somber scene of gray and greer
coloring, save that here and there wer,
clusters of wild flowers yielding
brighter hue of blue and yellow to tn,
dull background. The silence was pro
found, the river noiseless, except a.
the waters occasionally foamed owe
some obstacle in their path, or mu1
INJURED softly about the sharp prov o
the canoe. High up above the earl
morning air fiuttered the leaves, yet S,
gently that no sound of rustlint
reached me. The woods themselye
were desolate, apparently uninhabite6
without even fieeting wild animal t
break their loneliness.
| sat up, rubbing my cramped limbs
and stared about down the fores
aisles, impressed by the sombernes
OF our surroundings, yet with ever
, faculty aroused. The Dutchman's lar
guild movements, and the perspiratio
streaming down his face, told of har
nights work
y ITO Ri CONr1Nrr,rn