The Greenville journal. [volume] (Greenville, Ohio) 1850-1918, 1916-10-26

felt his lips upon my hand, yet
knew not he had gone. ] stood there,
my eyes blinded with tears at his gal
liant words. only becoming conscious Of
his disappearance when D'Artigny
drew me to him, his cheek pressed
against my hair.
HE has gonel We are aloneF'
"Yes, dear one; but thank God for
those last words. They have given me
courage and faith. So my old COM
rades believe US right the criticism of
others does not move me. You love
me. Adelel You do not regretP
My arms found way about his neck:
my lips uplIfted to his.
Monsieur, shall never regret;
trust God and you"
How he ever found his way along
that dim trail l shall never know.
Some memory Of its windings, together
with the instinct of a woodsman. must
have given guidance, while no doubt
his feet, clad in soft Indian mocca-
sins, enabled him to feel the faint
track, imperceivable in the darkness.
1t led along steep bank, through low,
tangled bushes, and about great trees,
with here and there a rock thrust
across the path, compelling detour.
The branches scratched my face and
tore my dress, confusing me so that
had l not clung to bis arm, | should
have been instantly lost In the gloom.
Our advance was slow and cautious,
every step taken In silence. Snakes
could not have moved with less noise,
and the preeaution was we'll taken.
Suddenly D'Artigny stopped, gripping
me In warning. For a moment there
was no sound except the distant mur-
muir Of waters. and the chatter Of some
night bird. Yet some instinct of the
woods held the man motiOnless, listen
ing. A twig cracked to our left, and
then a voice spoke, low and rumbllng.
1t sounded so close at hand the fellow
could scarcely have been Eve yards
away. Another voice answered, and
we were aware Of bodies, stealing
along through the wood; there was a
faint rustling Of dead leaves, and the
occasional swish of a branch. We
crouched low In the trail, fairly hold
ing our breath, every nerve tense.
There was no sound from below, but
in the other direction one warrior
l could see the dim outline Of his ma
ked fgure-passed within easy reach
Of my outstretched hand.
Assured that all had passed beyond
hearing D'Artigny rose to his feet, and
assisted me to rise, his hand still grasp
ing mine.
"Iroquois, by the look Of that war
rior," he whispered, "and enough Of |
them to, mean mischief"
"Twas the tongue Of the Tuscaro-
ras," answered. my father taught
me little Of it years ago. The first
words spoken were a warning to be
still; the other answered that the white
men are all asleep"
"And am not sure but that is true.
II De Tonty was in command the walls
would be well guarded, but De Baugis
and Cassion know nothing Of Indian
war"
"You believe it to be an ASSAULT"
at hath the look; tbs not Indian ma
ture to gather thus at this night hour.
without purpose. But, pouf, there is
title they can do against that stockade
If logs for all their numbers. 1t is
'ur duty to be well away by daylight"
The remaining distance to the wa
er's edge was not far-a direct de-
Icent amid Hitter Of rocks, shadowed
~ great trees. Nothing opposed our
passage, nor did we hear any sound
rom the savages concealed In the for
Est above. D'Artigny led the way
llong the shore until we reached the
Og hut. Its door stood open: the canoe
vas gone.