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The King's Arrow: A Tale of the United Empire Loyalists

by H. A. Cody · English · Gutenberg #16698 · 472,959 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The King's Arrow: A Tale of the United Empire Loyalists

Author: H. A. Cody


        
Release date: September 15, 2005 [eBook #16698]
                Most recently updated: December 12, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16698

Credits: E-text prepared by Al Haines


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE KING'S ARROW: A TALE OF THE UNITED EMPIRE LOYALISTS ***


E-text prepared by Al Haines



Transcriber's note:  In the original book, the 's' in "Wu-las-tukw" is
                     actually "s-acute", or Unicode U+015B, and the first
                     'u' in "Pu-kut" is actually "u-breve", or Unicode
                     U+016D.  In this e-text, both characters have been
                     rendered as their standard ASCII equivalents.





THE KING'S ARROW

A Tale of the United Empire Loyalists

by

H. A. CODY

Author of "The Frontiersman," "The Long Patrol," "Glen of the High North,"
"Jess of the Rebel Trail," etc.

McClelland and Stewart
Publishers     Toronto
George H. Doran Company

1922,







To

MY ANCESTORS OF THE UNITED EMPIRE LOYALISTS


Who Came to the St. John River, May, 1783,

This Book is Gratefully Dedicated




CONTENTS


CHAPTER

      I  WHEN THE CANNON ROARED
     II  "COME AND TAKE IT"
    III  CUPID'S ARROW
     IV  THE WARNING
      V  "TRY IT"
     VI  WHEN THE BOW-STRING TWANGED
    VII  OUT OF THE STORM
   VIII  BENEATH THE SPREADING MAPLE
     IX  LOVE'S CHARM
      X  WHILE THE WATER FLOWS
     XI  THE SUMMONS
    XII  PLOTTERS IN COUNCIL
   XIII  THE KING'S RANGERS
    XIV  WHERE THE RANGERS LED
     XV  THE LINE IN THE SAND
    XVI  UNDER COVER OF NIGHT
   XVII  THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY
  XVIII  LOYAL FRIENDS
    XIX  THE SMOKE SIGNAL
     XX  TEMPERED PUNISHMENT
    XXI  THROUGH THE WILDERNESS
   XXII  IN DESPERATE STRAITS
  XXIII  SIX CANDLES AND ONE
   XXIV  TIMON OF THE WILDERNESS
    XXV  UNMASKED
   XXVI  BEHIND THE BOLTED DOOR
  XXVII  THROUGH THE NIGHT AND THE STORM
 XXVIII  WITHIN THE LONE CABIN
   XXIX  SHELTERING ARMS
    XXX  THE ROUND-UP
   XXXI  PEACE AT EVENING TIME
  XXXII  AFTER MANY DAYS
 XXXIII  SEEDS OF EMPIRE




  THE LOYALISTS

  (1783)

  "Broad lands, ancestral homes, the gathered wealth
  Of patient toil and self-denying years
  Were confiscate and lost. . . .
  Not drooping like poor fugitives they came
  In exodus to our Canadian wilds,
  But full of heart and hope, with heads erect,
  And fearless eyes, victorious in defeat."

  WILLIAM KIRBY



"No one will know, because none has told, all that those brave pioneers
underwent for their devotion and fidelity.  You will see to-day on the
outskirts of the older settlements little mounds, moss-covered
tombstones which record the last resting-places of the forefathers of
the hamlet.  They do not tell you of the brave hearts laid low by
hunger and exposure, of the girlish forms washed away, of the babes and
little children who perished for want of proper food and raiment.  They
have nothing to tell of the courageous, high-minded mothers, wives and
daughters, who bore themselves as bravely as men, complaining never,
toiling with men in the fields, banishing all regrets for the life they
might have led had they sacrificed their loyalty. . . .  No great
monument is raised to their memory; none is needed; it is enshrined
forever in the hearts of every Canadian and of every one who admires
fidelity to principle, devotion and self-sacrifice."

"_Romance of Canada_," BECKLES H. WILLSON





THE KING'S ARROW


CHAPTER I

WHEN THE CANNON ROARED

A keen wind whipping in from the west swayed the tops of innumerable
pines, firs, spruces, and maples.  They were goodly trees, unharmed as
yet by scathing fire or biting axe.  Proudly they lifted their crests
to the wind and the sun, while down below, their great boles were
wrapped in perpetual shade and calm.  Life, mysterious life, lurked
within those brooding depths, and well did the friendly trees keep the
many secrets of the denizens of the wild.

Through that trackless maze two wayfarers warily threaded their course
on a chill May day in the year seventeen hundred and eighty-three.
They were men, and their speed denoted the urgency of the business upon
which they were bent.  They were clad in buckskin jackets, and homespun
trousers, which showed signs of hard usage.  Moccasins encased their
feet, and squirrel-skin caps sat lightly upon their heads.  Each
carried a heavy flint-lock musket in his hand, while at his side swung
the inevitable powder-horn, hung low enough so as not to interfere with
the small pack strapped across the shoulders.

Both travellers were peering intently forward, and when at length the
glint of shimmering water glimmered through the trees their faces
brightened with satisfaction.  But just then the leader stopped dead in
his tracks, and glanced anxiously to the left.  He was an Indian of
magnificent physique, and princely bearing, as straight as the trees
around him.  His companion, too, was standing in a listening attitude a
few feet away.  His keen ears had also caught a sound, and he knew its
meaning.  He was a white man, much younger than the Indian, although
from his deeply-bronzed face he might have been mistaken for a native.
He measured up nobly to the other in size and bearing, as well as in
strength, woodland skill, and endurance on the trail.

"Slashers, Pete, eh?" he questioned in a low voice.

"A-ha-ha," was the reply.  "No meet 'em, Dane.  Too many.  We go round."

Without another word he swung sharply to the right, and led the way to
the water in a wide circle.  Cautiously they approached the shore, and
then keeping within the edge of the forest they moved slowly along,
most of the time upon their hands and knees.  Occasionally they paused
to listen, but the only sounds they heard were the ones which had first
arrested their attention, although much nearer now.

Presently they stopped and from a thicket of bushes drew forth a birch
canoe, which had been cunningly hidden.  It took them but a few minutes
to carry it to the water, step lightly aboard, and push away from the
shore.  Each seized a paddle, and soon the canoe was headed for the
open, with Dane squatting forward, and the Indian seated astern.

Less hardy souls would have hesitated ere venturing out upon that angry
stretch of water in such a frail craft.  The crooked Kennebacasis was
showing its temper in no uncertain manner.  Exposed to the full rake of
the strong westerly wind, the waves were running high, and breaking
into white-caps, threatened to engulf the reeling canoe.  But the
Indian was master of the situation, and steered so skilfully that only
an occasional wisp of spray was flung on board.

They had gone about two hundred yards when a shot rang out from the
shore, and a bullet whistled past their heads.  Glancing quickly
around, they saw several men in the distance with muskets in their
hands.  They were shouting words of defiance to which the canoeists
made no reply.  Intuitively Dane reached for his musket, but a sharp
warning from the Indian caused him to desist.

"No shoot," he ordered.  "Paddle.  Quick."

And in truth there was urgent need, for the canoe had swung somewhat to
the left and was in danger of being swamped by the big waves as they
rolled and tossed their white foamy manes.  Another bullet sang by as
Dane drove his paddle into the water and forced the canoe into the eye
of the wind just as a larger wave than usual was about to break.  To
attempt to shoot he realised would be useless, although he longed to
have a try at the insulting slashers.  But to reach the opposite shore
in safety would require every ounce of strength and utmost skill, so he
bent steadily to his task and paid no further heed to the men upon the
shore.

Ahead lay two islands, separated by a narrow strip of water, and toward
this opening they directed their course.  It was a hard fight, and only
men of great strength and thoroughly-developed muscles could have
accomplished the task.  Reeling, dipping, lifting, and sliding, the
canoe pressed on, a fragile thing in the grip of an angry monster.  But
bear up it did and rode proudly at last into the smooth water between
the two islands.  Here the men rested and mopped their moist foreheads.

"Bad blow," the Indian casually remarked.

"Pretty heavy," Dane replied.  "I wish the slashers had come after us."

"Slashers, ugh!  Cowards!  No come.  Bimeby me ketch 'em.  Me fix 'em,
all sam' skunk."

Dane smiled as he again dipped his paddle into the water.

"Come, Pete, let's get on.  There's a nasty run ahead, and it'll take
us over two hours after we land to reach the Fort."

"Plenty rum to-night, eh?" the Indian queried, as he guided the canoe
out into the open.

"Not plenty, remember, Pete.  You've got to be careful this time and
not take too much.  If there are slashers hanging around the trading
post they'll be only too anxious to get you drunk, and put you out of
business.  There's too much at stake to run any risk."

"Umph! me no get drunk," the Indian retorted.  "Me no fool.  Me no
crazee white man."

It took them almost a half hour to cross to the mainland.  Here they
landed, concealed the canoe, and ate a frugal meal of bread and dried
meat.  This detained them but a short time, and they then started forth
upon the trail which led along the river not far from the shore.  They
swung rapidly on their way, up hill and down, leaping small brooks, and
crossing swamps overgrown with a tangle of alders, rank grass, and
succulent weeds.  Small game was plentiful.  Rabbits scurried across
the trail, and partridges rose and whirred among the trees.  But the
travellers never paused in their onward march.  Although they had been
on the way since early morning, they showed no sign of fatigue.  Their
strong athletic bodies, bent somewhat forward, swayed in rythmic
motion, and their feet beat a silent tatoo upon the well-worn trail.

For over an hour they kept up this swinging gait, and only slowed down
when at length the trail led them out of the thick forest into a great
open portion of the country.  This was marshland, and it spread out
before them miles in extent.  To the right were rugged wooded hills,
while far away to the left the cold steel glitter of the Bay of Fundy
could be distinctly seen.

For a few minutes they stopped to rest on this commanding elevation,
Dane's whole soul athrill at the wonderful panorama thus suddenly
presented to view.  His eyes glowed, and he eagerly inhaled great
draughts of the invigorating tang wafted in from the far distant sea.

"My, that's fine!" he ejaculated, giving a deep sigh of satisfaction.
"That puts new life into one, eh, Pete?"

The Indian's mind, however, was not upon the marvellous things of
nature.  He was gazing intently down toward the marshland where
something had attracted his attention.

"Plenty duck down dere," he replied.  "Me get 'em bimeby."

Dane smiled, picked up his musket, and looked quizzically at his
companion.

"Can't you see anything but ducks, Pete?  What do you think of all
that?" and he waved his hand to the left.  "Isn't it great!"

"Umph!" the Indian grunted, "me see only duck; stummick say only
'duck.'"

"Come on, then, Pete," the young man ordered.  "The sooner we get
through with our business, the sooner you can come back for your ducks.
One of those fat fellows would go well for supper."

Turning somewhat to the right, they followed the trail over the rugged
hills, where through breaks in the trees they could catch occasional
glimpses of the marsh and the water beyond.  The way here was rough,
and their progress somewhat slow.  But steadily they plodded on,
knowing that their destination was now not far off.

After crossing an exceptionally bad piece of ground, they came out upon
a pleasant little lake lying like a gem among the hills.  At its outlet
was a small saw-mill, but now idle, and with no one in sight.  Here
they paused for a few minutes, and when they were about to proceed a
great roar startled them.  It was quickly followed by three more in
rapid succession, and then all was still.

"It's the Fort cannon!" Dane exclaimed, much excited.  "Something's
happening over there.  Maybe that old pirate, Crabtree, has come up the
harbour again.  He won't find Fort Howe as easy to take as Fort
Frederick, let me tell you that.  Come on, Pete, let's see the fun."

Hurrying on their way, ere long they reached the summit of a hill above
the lake, from which position they were able to obtain the first view
of the Fort away in the distance.  The guns were silent now, and no
sign of life could they see.

Below stretched a deep wooded valley through which the trail ran.  It
did not take the excited men long to speed down the hill and up the
opposite side.  The roar of the cannon had roused these hardy sons of
the wild, and the fire of a new adventure thrilled their souls.  The
great guns had roared, and what else did it mean but a fight with a
desperate foe in the narrow harbour?  And if they could see the
struggle, what a tale they would have to tell their comrades around the
camp fires in the heart of the great forest.

As they gained the summit of the hill, the trail led them through
clearings where the trees had been cut for fuel.  Piles of brush were
on all sides, and in places cords of wood lined the way which here
widened into a rough road.  They were coming into the limits of
civilisation now, and the view of the Fort was much more distinct.  The
great guns gave no further voice, but as they neared the crest of the
hill which slopes down to the harbour, a new and peculiar sound fell
upon their ears.  They paused and listened intently, but could not
understand its meaning.

Cautiously they advanced, alert, and ready to flee to the shelter of
the forest should occasion require.  For a time nothing unusual could
they see, although the strange sound was becoming more audible.
Reaching at length the brow of the hill, they stopped dead in their
tracks at a wonderful sight.  Below lay the harbour, where vessels
large and small were riding calmly at anchor.  Where had they come
from? and what were they doing there?  Such were the questions which
leaped to Dane's mind.  Small boats were coming from the ships, loaded
with people, while on the shore and some distance from the water
throngs of men, women, and children were either huddled in groups, or
hurrying to and fro in the most excited manner.  Tents and rude brush
shacks dotted the hillside, before which people were standing, while
bundles and household effects were scattered about on every side.

Never had Dane been so greatly puzzled.  Why had the Fort guns roared?
What were those ships doing there in the harbour?  That they did not
belong to the pirates he felt certain, for they bore the English flag,
and he could see red-coated soldiers mingling with the people on the
shore.  In his intense interest he forgot for the moment his important
mission, and he was upon the point of hastening down the hill to find
out for himself the meaning of the strange scene when Pete touched his
arm.

"What all dat beeg fuss, eh?" he asked.

The Indian's question startled him, and brought him to himself.

"Blamed if I know, Pete," he replied.  "It's beyond me, for I never saw
anything like it before.  Anyway, I'm going to find out.  You take my
pack and gun and go back to the lake.  Get a duck for supper, a good
big fat fellow.  I'll be there as soon as I can, and tell you what I
can learn at the Fort.  We've run across something to-day, Pete, more
than we expected."




CHAPTER II

"COME AND TAKE IT"

Fort Howe occupied an important position at the mouth of the St. John
River when the present Province of New Brunswick was a part of Nova
Scotia.  It was well situated, and from the summit of a high hill
commanded the harbour, a large stretch of the river, and the entire
surrounding country for miles in extent.  It looked down upon the ruins
of Fort Frederick, which it replaced, and across to the site of another
old Fort where the brave and noble Lady LaTour and her little band of
men made their gallant resistance to a treacherous foe.

Fort Howe proved a great comfort to the trading post at Portland Point,
and to the thirty or more families settled in the vicinity.  Scarcely
had it been erected, and its guns mounted, when the rapacious pirate
from Machias, A. Greene Crabtree by name, appeared upon the scene, as
he had done before with disastrous results.  But this time he received
the surprise of his life.  He viewed with astonishment the new Fort
upon the hill, and the flag of England floating from the ramparts.  So
great was his astonishment that he beat a hasty retreat, and troubled
no more the little settlement at Portland Point.

Fort Howe was not a large place, containing in all two blockhouses
and barracks, with twelve rooms for the officers, and accommodation
for one hundred men.  The armament consisted of two five and a half
inch brass mortars, and eight iron guns, the latter including two
eighteen-pounders, four six-pounders, and two four-pounders.


Although Fort Howe was small, yet it meant a great deal to the people
scattered along the St. John River and its various tributaries.  It was
the seat of authority where all knew that true British justice would be
meted out by the brave, sturdy commander in charge, Major Gilfred
Studholme.  It had a restraining influence upon restless, warlike
Indians, and rebels dwelling along the river.  At the same time it
filled the hearts of all loyal, peaceful people with a feeling of
security.  To them it was a symbol of England's power, and they often
discussed it around their camp fires, and in their lonely forest homes.

As Dane Norwood paused for a minute upon the brow of the opposite hill,
after he had left the Indian, a feeling of pride and awe welled up in
his heart as he looked across at the Fort.  He had heard much about it,
but never until this day had he set eyes upon the place.  He saw the
big flag fluttering in the breeze, and the black muzzels of the cannon
frowning seaward.  He longed to hear them roar again, and he wondered
how far they would shoot, much farther, he had been told, than the
largest flint-lock ever made.

Leaving the brow of the hill, he moved swiftly down a narrow trail
which led to a large pond of water below.  At its outlet was a tidal
grist mill, back of which a strong dam had been built.  Along this
latter was a foot path which he followed, and soon reached the opposite
bank.  From here a well-constructed road, lined with trees, wound up
the hill to the Fort.  Dane walked somewhat slower now, and his heart
beat fast.  He was at the end of his long journey, and soon he would be
in the presence of the man of whom he had heard so much.  He slipped
his hand beneath his buckskin jacket and felt, as he had done so often
during the last three days, a small package hidden in an inside pocket.
In a few minutes more it would be delivered into the hands of the
owner, and his responsibility would be ended.

When part way up the hill he came to a strong barricade, where he was
suddenly confronted and challenged by a sentry, who demanded where he
was going and what he wanted.

"I have a message for the commander of the Fort," Dane told him.  "I
must see him at once."

"The Major is out at present," the soldier replied.  "But let me have
your message and I shall give it to him as soon as he comes back."

"I have orders to give it to the Major himself and to no one else," the
courier explained.  "It is very important."

"It certainly must be," and the soldier smiled.  "But the Major is very
busy to-day, so may not have time to see you.  He is down at the
trading post just now looking after the wants of those people who have
come in the ships.  They have upset things in general, and are making
matters pretty lively around here, let me tell you that.  The Major is
almost at his wits' end."

"Who are they?" Dane eagerly asked, "and where did they come from?"

"Why, don't you know?" the soldier asked in surprise.

"No, I have not the least idea.  When I heard the Fort guns roar, I
thought maybe old Crabtree had come back again."

The soldier laughed and looked curiously at the young man.

"Say, where do you hail from, anyway, that you haven't heard about the
coming of the Loyalists?  Why, we've been expecting them for some time."

"I never heard of them," Dane confessed, "and have no idea who they
are."

"They are the ones who stood by King George during the Revolutionary
War, of course.  When England gave up the fight, and peace was decided
upon, the Loyalists were in a bad way.  Their property was confiscated,
and they themselves treated very badly.  They would not live under the
new flag of their enemies, so they got out, and here they are."

Dane glanced out toward the ships with the light of intense interest in
his eyes.  What a story he would have to tell his comrades in the
wilderness.  They all knew about the war, but no word had reached them
of the coming of the Loyalists.

"Didn't you want them to come here?" he asked turning to the sentry.

"Want them?  Why, we had nothing to say about the matter."

"But didn't you fire upon them?  I heard the roar of the guns when out
in the hills."

The soldier threw back his head and gave a hearty laugh.  He was
enjoying this conversation, as it broke the monotony of his duty.

"We weren't firing upon them," he explained.  "That was only a salute
of welcome."

"What are all those people going to do?" Dane asked.  "How are they to
make a living?"

"Oh, I suppose many will settle here, while others will take up land
and farm.  It will be some time, though, before everything is
straightened out.  Just look at that crowd down there," and he motioned
to the trading post.  "I guess we'll have our hands full keeping order.
I don't envy the Major his job."

"And there are others he must handle as well," Dane replied.  "I must
see him at once.  Which is the best road to take?"

"You better follow that one along the side of the hill," the soldier
advised, pointing to the right.  "There is a short cut down over the
bank some distance ahead.  You can't miss it.  There is another along
the waterfront leading to the mill-pond.  That's the best one to take
coming back."

Thanking the friendly sentry, Dane hurried away, and in about fifteen
minutes came near the trading post.  He walked slower now, greatly
interested in everything he beheld, from the quaint store to the people
gathered ground the building.

For years this post at Portland Point had been the Mecca for the entire
country.  The owners, Simonds and White, carried on an extensive trade
with both Indians and whites.  Enduring and overcoming great
difficulties, they laid the foundation of what to-day is the City of
St.  John.  The most important event, however, in all their career at
Portland Point was the arrival of the thousands of exiles in their
midst.  They gave them a hearty welcome, and did all in their power to
aid them in the land of their adoption.

As Dane approached the crowd, he looked keenly about for Major
Studholme.  Although he had never seen him, he imagined that he would
know him at once.  He surely would be a large man, of princely bearing,
who would be busy issuing orders to his men.  But although he saw a
number of soldiers, there was no one who measured Up to his ideal of
the commander of the Fort.

At length he observed a man, who from his uniform seemed to be an
officer, seated at a small rough table near the store door.  He was
busy writing, and passing pieces of paper to men standing before him.
Surely he must be the Major, Dane thought, so stepping forward, he
stood for a few minutes close to the table.  He soon learned that the
officer was issuing orders to the Loyalists for boards, shingles,
clapboards, and bricks for the building of their houses.  For a while
he had no chance to speak to the man, but waiting his opportunity, he
at last stood before him.

"Are you Major Studholme?" he asked.

"No," the officer replied, laying down his pen with a sigh of
weariness.  "I am merely acting in the Major's place."

Then he looked at Dane more closely, and his interest became aroused.
He knew at once that this young man was not one of the newly-arrived
exiles, but a courier from the wilderness.  He noted his buckskin garb,
finely-built body, erect manner, and the bright open countenance.  He
had seen special couriers before, and they had all been men worthy of
more than a passing glance.  But this young man surpassed them all, and
he looked upon him with admiration.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he at length asked.

"I have a message for the Major," Dane explained, "and I must deliver
it to him."

"Give it to me," and the officer reached out his hand.  "I am
Lieutenant Street, and I shall see that the Major gets it."

"That I cannot do," Dane replied as he drew back a step.  "I have
strict orders to give it to Major Studholme, and to no one else."

"It must be very important, then," and the officer smiled.

"It is, and the Major must get it at once.  Where is he?"

"Over there," and the Lieutenant motioned across the water to the right
where the small boats were still busy landing people from the ships.
"He's got his hands full straightening things out.  But he can do it if
any one can."

The officer now turned his attention to several impatient men who were
standing near, so further conversation was out of the question.  Dane
had taken no notice of those around him.  Neither did he see three men
watching his every movement.  They had evidently overheard his
conversation with the officer, and seemed greatly pleased.  As Dane
left the place and walked toward the road leading to the mill-pond, the
three followed.  They kept some distance behind until they came to a
grove of rough tangled trees, when they started forward at a run.
Dane, hearing them coming, stopped and looked back.  Instinctively the
caution of the wild possessed him, causing him to stand on the
defensive, and his eyes to gleam with the light of danger.

"What do you want?" he demanded, as the three suddenly stopped before
him.  "You seem to be in a hurry."

"We are," one of the men replied.  "We want that message you have for
the Major."

"What do you want it for?"

"Never mind about that.  Hand it over, and be damn quick about it, too."

Dane's body now quivered with excitement, and the thrill of battle
swept upon him.  His eyes narrowed until they became mere slits, and
his hands clenched hard as he drew himself to his full height.

"If you want the message I carry, come and take it," he challenged.
"That is the only way you can get it."

"Don't be a fool," another of the men warned.  "You might as well hand
over that message first as last.  It will save you a lot of trouble.
We're going to get it, so make up your mind to that."

"How?" Dane asked.

"Oh, you'll soon know.  Out with it.  We're in a hurry."

"So am I," Dane replied.

Then he slightly crouched, and with a sudden tiger-like spring he was
upon them.  A sledge-hammer drive to the jaw of one sent him reeling
backwards among the trees, while a mighty swinging blow to the right
crumpled up another in the middle of the road.  So astonished was the
third at this unexpected attack, and the complete knock-out of his
companions, that he did not raise a hand in their defence.  A sudden
terror possessed him, so leaping aside just in time to escape the
whirlwind of a man charging upon him, he ran as he had never run in his
life before.

Dane stood looking after him, and a smile overspread his face.

"Hi, there, you've forgotten the message," he called.  "Come back and
get it."

But the man paid no heed.  He kept steadily on, and only slowed down to
a walk as he neared the store.  Dane next turned his attention to the
other two men.  They had both recovered, and were sitting upon the
ground, rubbing their injured faces in the most doleful manner.

"Why, what's the matter?" he bantered.  "Did something hit you?"

"Did it?" one of them growled.  "Did lightning ever hit a tree?  Who in
h---- are you, anyway?"

"Oh, I'm the man with the message.  I've got it yet; don't you want it?
I thought you were in a hurry."

As the crestfallen men made no reply, Dane stepped toward them.

"I'll tell you who I am," he began.  "I am the King's Arrow.  I go
where I am sent, and I hit the bull's eye every time, and hit it hard,
too.  Do you doubt it?"

"Good Lord, no!" was the gasping confession from each.

"And let me tell you further," Dane continued, "that as I have dealt
with you now, so others will deal with you in the future if you try any
more of your mean tricks.  Perhaps you will not get off so easily then
as you have this time.  I know who you are.  You are employed by the
slashers to spy upon the King's men, engaged in the lawful business of
cutting masts for his Majesty's navy.  They are well named, for they
are slashing everywhere, and ruining the forests.  But they have about
reached the end of their tether, and you can tell them so from me, Dane
Norwood, the King's Arrow."

Without another word he turned, and walked rapidly along the road
leading to the mill-pond.




CHAPTER III

CUPID'S ARROW

Before a rude shack, somewhat back from the water, a middle aged
colored woman was seated upon a block of wood.  In her hands she held a
waffle-iron, the farther end of which was thrust into a small fire
between several stones.  She was a bunty little body, clad in a plain
grey dress, with a cap, somewhat in the form of a white turban,
adorning her head.  Her naturally good-natured face bore an anxious
expression, and a worried look appeared in her eyes as she turned them
occasionally to the people moving about farther down the hill.

Presently she drew the iron from the fire, unclamped it, and with
remarkable deftness turned out a nicely-browned waffle into a dish by
her side.  She then greased both halves of the pan, filled them with
batter, reclamped the iron and thrust it again into the fire.  This she
did several times until the dish was almost filled with
delicious-smelling waffles.

"Guess dey'll suit de Cun'l," she said to herself.  "He's mighty fond
of waffles, he shur' is.  An' Missie Jean is, too, fo' dat matter.  I
wonder what's keepin' dem.  Dey's generally on time fo' supper.  But,
den, t'ings are so upset dese days dat only de Lo'd knows what's goin'
to happen next."

Then she began to sing in a subdued voice the Twenty-third psalm, the
only piece she knew.

"I hab no doubt about de Lo'd bein' my Shepa'd," she commented, "an' I
guess He'll not let me want.  But He hasn't led me into green past'rs
dis time.  I wonder if de Good Lo'd made dis place, anyway," and she
gazed ruefully around.  "It looks to me as if de deb'l had a mighty big
hand in it, fo' sich a mixed up contraption of a hole I nebber set my
two eyes on befo'.  An' to t'ink dat de Cun'l had to leab his nice home
in Ol' Connec., an' come to a jumpin'-off place like dis.  I hope de
ever-lastin' fire will be seben times hot when it gits dem skunks dat
stirred up ructions 'ginst good King George, I sa'tinly do."

A slight noise startled her, and turning her head, she smiled as she
saw a girl standing near her side.

"Land sakes!  Missie Jean, how yo' did scare me!" she exclaimed.  "I
thought mebbe it was a bear or a tager comin' out ob de woods, fo' one
nebber knows what to 'spect next in dis place."

"I am sorry I frightened you, Mammy," the girl smilingly replied, "And
it was too bad that I interrupted you in your interesting talk about
'everlasting fire,' 'ructions,' and 'King George.'  You seem to be in a
fighting mood."

"I is, Missie Jean, I is in a turrible fightin' mood.  I'd like jes at
dis very minute to hab my two hands on dem rascals dat turned on good
King George, an' den druve us all out ob our homes.  I'd show dem a
t'ing or two, I sa'tinly would."

"I don't doubt it," the girl replied, as she stooped and helped herself
to a waffle.  "If you could fight as well as you can cook you would be
a wonder."

"I could cook on our stove in Ol' Connec., Missie Jean, but it's mighty
hard work on dat," and she looked contemptuously at the rude
fire-place.  "To t'ink that we should ebber come to dis!"

"Why, I think it's great, Mammy."

"What' not better'n Ol' Connec.?"

"Oh, not at all.  But this might be worse.  I miss our dear old home in
Connecticut, and yet I have often longed for a life such as this.  I am
sure you will like it, too, Mammy, when you get used to it."

"I kin nebber git used to it, chile.  I'se been torn up by de roots
from de ol' home where I was born an' bred, an' I kin nebber take root
agin, 'specially in sich a rocky hole as dis."

"But we're not going to stay here, Mammy.  We are going up the river,
and make a new home in a beautiful place among the trees."

"Ah, chile, dat's what makes me tremble.  It's bad 'nuf here, de Lo'd
knows, but up dere!  Why, dere's bears, an' tagers dat'll eat ye up in
a jiffy.  An' dere's Injuns, too, dat'll skin ye alive, an' scalp ye,
an' roast ye fo' dinner.  No, I kin nebber take root in a place like
dat."

"But we'll be pioneers, Mammy," the girl reminded.  "Just think what an
honour it will be to take part in holding this land for King George.
People will be proud of what we are doing in years to come."

"I don't want to be no pioneers, Missie Jean, an' I'm not hankerin'
after no honour.  It suits dis ol' woman better to hab her skin an'
scalp now, even if dey are black, den to hab folks ye don't know
nuffin' 'bout blubberin' over ye a hundred years from now.  Dem's my
solemn sent'ments."

"But daddy thinks there is a great purpose in our coming here, Mammy.
He says he believes that the Lord is overruling our defeat, and that
the driving us out from our homes and scattering us abroad will be the
means of extending King George's sway, and raising up a great nation in
this land."

"Missie Jean," and Mammy raised a warning finger, "I doan want to
predjis you 'ginst yer daddy's jeg'ment, remember.  But I can't see de
Lo'd's hand in dis racket.  It doan seems nat'ral to me fo' de Lo'd to
let King George lose a good an' beau'ful country, an' den gib him sich
a jumpin'-off place as dis instead.  An', chile, I doan believe dat de
Lo'd ever meant yo' to come here."

"Why, Mammy?  Do I look any the worse for it?"

"Yo' couldn't look worse, Missie Jean, not if yo' tried ebber so hard."

"Come, come, Mammy, I am surprised at you," and the girl's eyes
sparkled with merriment.  "What do you mean by saying I couldn't look
worse?  I didn't know I was as hideous as all that."

"I didn't say yo' was hidjus, Missie Jean.  I jes said yo' couldn't
look worse, an' ye can't.  Yo' kin only look beau'ful.  Why, chile, it
makes my ol' heart ache when I t'ink of sich a lubly creature as yo'
bein' buried alive 'way off in de woods."

"But I don't intend to be buried alive, Mammy.  I hope to live a good
many years yet, and only buried when I am dead."

"Ah, chile, dere is more ways den one of bein' buried alive.  I am
t'inkin' of de lonely life in de woods, wif no nice young men to look
at yer pretty face, lubly eyes, an' beau'ful hair.  An' ye'll hab no
chance to wear fine clothes an' be admired."

"Mammy."  There was a note in the girl's voice which caused the colored
woman to glance quickly up.

"What is it, chile?"

"I want to tell you something, Mammy.  This is not the time to talk
about such things, nor to wail and lament about our lot.  I have just
been down helping some of those women with their children.  They are
almost heart-broken, and I did what I could to cheer them up.  I have
made up my mind that no matter how badly I feel, no one is to know
anything about it.  I am going to forget my own troubles in helping
others.  And, Mammy, I want you to do the same.  If you talk to others
as you have been talking to me, it will make them more depressed than
ever.  They need smiles, words of cheer, and a helping hand.  And you
can do that, remember.  Never mind about me, or admiring young men.
There are more serious things to think about just now."

"Land sakes, chile!" the colored woman exclaimed, holding up both
hands.  "I nebber heard yo' talk dat way befo'.  But I guess yo're
right, an' I'se ready to do what I kin.  But here comes de Cun'l!  An',
oh, Missie Jean, de Major's wif him!  Dere won't be 'nuf waffles to go
'round, an' de fire's 'most out.  What in de world is I to do?"

"Never mind, Mammy," the girl comforted, "they have hardly time to
think about eating.  Just give them what you have."

"But dese waffles are col', chile, an' I know how fond men are of
eatin'.  Nuffin' kin make dem fergit dere stummicks."

Smiling at the colored woman's worries, Jean at once set to work to
renew the fire.  There were a few hot coals, so by the time the men
arrived, she had the fire burning brightly, and Mammy was preparing to
cook an extra supply of waffles.

Colonel Sterling was a fine looking man.  His white hair, flowing
beard, and commanding presence would have distinguished him in any
company.  His face was genial, and his grey eyes shone with pleasure
and pride as they rested upon his daughter who now turned to meet him.

"Is supper ready, dear?" he enquired, "I am hungry, and I know the
Major is, too."

"There is the supper," and Jean pointed to the dish of waffles.  "But
I'm afraid it's not much for two hungry men.  The Major, I am sure,
will find it pretty poor fare."

"Not at all, Miss Jean," the officer smilingly assured her.  "I recall
so well the choice waffles I had at your old home in Stamford the last
time I visited there.  And I am confident, too, that your excellent
cook has lost none of her skill since then."

He looked toward Mammy as he spoke, causing the faithful servant almost
to drop the iron she was holding, so great was her confusion at such a
compliment from so great a person.

Major Gilfred Studholme was the right man in the right place at this
critical time in the history of Portland Point.  He had served with
distinction on behalf of his King in numerous engagements, and his
heart went out in sympathy to the thousands of refugees so suddenly
thrust upon him for protection.  This soldier had held his post secure
in the face of hostile savages and lawless marauders, and he was
equally faithful now in the discharge of his duties to the newcomers.

Leaving Mammy to recover from her embarrassment and to continue her
cooking, Jean went into the little shack, the only home she now knew,
and brought forth a small table.  This she placed near the door,
covered it with a white cloth, and again went inside for dishes.  Her
supply of the latter was most meagre, as the rest had not been
unpacked.  Her eyes grew a little misty as she recalled what the Major
had said about the last time he had been with them in their old home in
Stamford.  She had a clear remembrance of that day, of the
neatly-arranged table, with fresh flowers in the centre, and the light
of pleasure and contentment upon her dear mother's face.  What changes
had taken place since then!  Her mother had been laid to rest, the old
home was gone, and they were exiles in a strange cruel land.

Hastily wiping her eyes with a delicately-embroidered handkerchief, she
collected a few dishes, and had just reached the door when she suddenly
stopped.  Standing before the Major she saw a young man, clad in the
most peculiar manner she had ever seen.  But his face and bearing were
what chiefly attracted her, while a pleasurable sensation, such as she
had never before experienced, swept through her being.

"I am Dane Norwood," the young man was saying, "and I bring a message
from William Davidson, the King's purveyor.  Here it is," and he handed
forth a letter he had taken from the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Are you in the King's service?" the Major asked as he took the missive.

"I am," was the reply.  "I am a special courier, known as the 'King's
Arrow,' and I always go where I am sent.  That is why I am here."

"Where are your manners, then?" the Major demanded with a twinkle in
his eyes.

"Manners!  What manners?"

"When you approach a superior officer, of course."

"Oh, you mean the salute.  I have heard of it, but never saw it given."

"What! you never saluted any one; not even the King's purveyor?"

"No.  Where I live we are all equal when it comes to that.  We never
bother about such things.  The only salute I know is the kind I handed
out to those slashers a short time ago when they tried to take that
message from me."

"Where was that?" the Major questioned.

"Just over there along that road," and Dane motioned to the right.

"Where are they now?"

"I think two are busy nursing their faces, while the third is hiding
somewhere around the trading post.  He was running that way the last
time I saw him."

"And you defeated the three of them single-handed?"

"Why, that was nothing.  I would be a mighty poor courier if I couldn't
take care of myself, especially when slashers are around."

A bright smile illumined the Major's face as he held out his right hand.

"Young man, I am proud of you," he said, "and I shall mention you to
the General Officers in my next report.  We need such men as you
to-day."

"I don't care for any honour," Dane replied.  "I only want an answer to
that letter, so I can get away early in the morning.  Davidson is
pretty anxious up river."

"Why, sure enough," the Major agreed.  "I must not keep you longer than
is necessary."

Opening the envelope, which was marked with a big broad arrow, he drew
forth the paper within, unfolded it, and glanced rapidly over the
contents.  As he did so, a serious expression overspread his face, and
he remained a minute or two lost in deep thought.

All this Jean had heard and seen from the door where she was standing
with the dishes in her hands.  When, however, the Major began to read
the letter, she stepped outside, and placed the cups, saucers, and
plates upon the table.  It was then that Dane first saw her, and his
eyes opened wide with surprise and admiration.  Presently Jean turned,
and seeing the courier's ardent gaze, her eyes dropped, and a deep
flush of embarrassment suffused her face.  This all happened in a few
seconds, but in that brief space of time that quaint little archer,
Cupid, had been busy, and two youthful hearts had been pierced by his
subtle arrows.

Never before had Dane beheld such a vision of loveliness and maidenly
charm.  The girl fascinated him, and moved by a sudden impulse, he was
upon the point of going to her side, fearful lest she should vanish,
when the Major's voice restrained him.

"Come to the Fort early in the morning," he heard the officer say.  "I
wish to have a talk with you there."

"I shall be on hand, and early at that," Dane replied.

With another fleeting glance toward the girl, he turned and moved
swiftly away toward the lake back in the hills.




CHAPTER IV

THE WARNING

Dane walked as in a dream along the trail to the lake.  Something had
come into his life during the last half hour which had wrought a subtle
mystic change.  He did not try to analyse it, as he had never
experienced such a feeling before.  He only knew that back there where
the land slopes to the harbour he had beheld a vision which had
thrilled his entire being.  The face and form of the girl with the
large questioning eyes were all that he saw as he hurried on his way.
Everything else was blotted from his mind, even the urgency of his
important mission.  The spirit of the wild was upon him, and an
overmastering impulse was surging through his heart.  He must see her
again; he must look upon her face; he must hear her speak.  His passion
was intense.  It was a living fire, the ardour of a great first love.

The Indian noted the change which had come over his master, and
wondered.  He made no comment, however, as he squatted upon the ground,
slowly turning a wooden spit on which a fat duck was roasting over a
small fire.  Dane sat down upon a log, with his eyes upon Pete,
although in fact he was hardly aware what he was doing, for his
thoughts were elsewhere.

When the duck was at last cooked, the Indian divided it, and gave half
to Dane.

"Fine bird, dat," he remarked.  "Me shoot him on wing.  Taste good, eh?"

"Does it?" Dane asked, rousing for a minute from his reverie.  He then
relapsed into silence.

"What de matter?" Pete presently asked.  "See sometin', eh?"

"Why, what makes you think there is anything the matter?" the young man
queried.

"Dane so still.  Dane no talk, no smile, no eat.  Dane seek, mebbe.
Bad medicine, eh?"

Dane laughed and looked at his companion.

"I am all right, Pete," he assured.  "But I've seen and heard great
things to-day.  I also knocked out two slashers, while the third ran
away."

"A-ha-ha, good," the Indian grunted.  "Dem all slashers in beeg canoe,
eh?" and he motioned toward the harbour.

"No, no; they are King George's people.  They were driven out of their
own homes, and have come here.  There are thousands of them, so I
learned."

"All stay here?"

"Some will, but many will go up river, and settle on the land."

"Ugh! too many white men dere now.  Chase Injun, kill moose, ketch
feesh.  Injun all starve."

"Don't you worry about that," Dane replied.  "These are all King
George's people, so they will treat the Indians right."

"Mebbe so," and Pete shook his head in a somewhat doubtful manner.  "Me
see bimeby."

At length Dane rose to his feet, and looked over toward the harbour.
The sun had disappeared beyond the far distant hills, and dusk was
stealing up over the land.  A stiff breeze was drifting in from the
Bay, chilly and damp.  Dane thought of the Loyalists in their wretched
shacks, and of the ones who had no shelter at all.  He longed to know
how they were making out, and especially her who was so much in his
mind.

"You stay here, Pete, and keep guard," he ordered.  "I'm going to see
how King George's people are making out."

"Come back soon, eh?" the Indian asked.

"I shall not be long, Pete.  You get camp fixed up for the night, and
keep the fire going."

"A-ha-ha.  Me feex t'ings, a'right."

Leaving the Indian, Dane hurried away from the lake, descended into the
valley, and climbed the hill on the opposite side.  By the time he
reached the height above the waterfront, the dusk had deepened into a
weird darkness.  Here he paused and looked down upon the strange scene
below.  Hundreds of camp-fires, large and small, emitted their fitful
ruddy glow, while beyond, the lights of a score of anchored ships were
reflected in the wind-ruffled water.  A murmur of many voices drifted
up to the silent watcher on the brow of the hill, mingled with shrill
cries of children, and the sound of beating hammers, as weary men
worked late at their rude dwellings.

Down into this Babel of confusion Dane slowly made his way.  He passed
the spot where he had met the Major, and he looked eagerly for the girl
who had won his heart.  But she was nowhere to be seen, although a
small fire was burning near the shack, before which the colored woman
was keeping watch, swaying her body, and humming her favourite psalm.

Farther down the hill the people had settled closer together, and as
Dane moved through this strange medley of shacks, brush houses, tents,
sails fastened to sticks driven into the ground, and other rude
contrivances, he realised for the first time the sadly-pathetic
condition of these outcast people.  Although many of them were hidden
from view, he could see numbers huddled about their fires, and children
wrapped in blankets asleep upon the ground, while here and there tired
mothers were nursing and soothing their fretful babes.

Little attention was paid to the young courier as he moved from place
to place, except an occasional glance at his curious costume.  In fact,
most of these exiles were strangers to one another, as they had come on
different ships, and had only met for the first time on the day of
their landing.  The ones who had sailed on the same vessels, and had
thus become acquainted, naturally kept together as much as possible.
But they were all comrades in distress, sufferers in a common cause,
united by the golden bond of sympathy.

Down by the water men were sorting out and piling up their household
effects, which had been carelessly dumped upon the shore.  But others
not so engaged were gathered in little groups around camp-fires, either
discussing their present prospects, or relating their experiences on
the vessels, and their hardships during and after the war.  To some of
these tales Dane listened with wide-eyed wonder, and a burning
indignation in his heart.  What stories he would have to tell when he
went back to his woodland home.

All that he heard, however, was not of a sad or gloomy nature.  These
sturdy men enjoyed humorous yarns, and as Dane listened to several, he
joined in the laughter that ensued.  One, especially, appealed to him.
It was told by a big strapping fellow, who hitherto had taken little
part in the talk.

"Your yarns can't equal that of the shoemaker of Richmond, Virginia" he
began.  "When the rebels were passing through the town he stood in the
door of his house and cried out 'Hurrah for King George.'  He followed
the soldiers to a wood, where they had halted, and began again to
hurrah for King George.  When the commanding officer and his aides had
mounted and were moving on, the shoemaker followed, still hurrahing for
King George.  The officer, therefore, ordered that he should be taken
to the river and ducked.  This was done, and he was plunged several
times under the water.  But whenever his head appeared above the
surface he would shout for King George.  He was then taken to his own
house, where his wife and four daughters were crying and beseeching him
to hold his tongue.  The top of a barrel of tar was knocked off, and
the man was plunged in headlong.  He was then pulled out by the heels,
and rolled in a mass of feathers, from a bed which had been taken from
his own house, until he presented a strange, horrible sight.  But
through it all, whenever he could get his mouth open, he would hurrah
for King George.  He was then driven out of the town, and the officer
warned him that he would be shot if he troubled them again.  That is
the story as it was told me, and I think it a mighty good one."

Dane longed to hear more tales of that wonderful land, and of the great
fights which had taken place.  But just then a strange sound startled
him.  It was the roll of a drum, followed almost immediately by the
shrill notes of several fifes.  He could not see the musicians, as they
were some distance away to the left.  But he knew what they were
playing, for he was quite familiar with the tune and words of the old
fireside song.  A sudden silence fell upon the little band around the
fire.  Bronzed faces became grave, and more than one man's eyes grew
misty with honest tears.

Barely had the notes of this tune died away when the men were roused to
action by the stirring strains of the National Anthem.  They sprang to
their feet as one, and stood at attention.  Somewhere a strong voice
took up the words, and in an instant all over that hillside hundreds of
men and women were singing as they had never sung before.

  God save our gracious King,
  Long live our noble King,
    God save the King.

Though driven from their homes; exiles in a strange land; surrounded by
unknown dangers, and with a most uncertain future, nothing could dampen
their spirit of loyalty to their King across the sea.

To Dane this was all wonderful.  He longed to see the musicians, and to
watch them as they played.  He walked over in the direction from which
the music had come, and had almost reached what he supposed was the
spot, when he suddenly stopped.  There before him he beheld the real
object of his visit.  She was seated on the ground before a fire, with
several children gathered about her.  They were all listening with rapt
attention to some story she was telling them.  Dane was held spellbound
at the pretty scene before him.  He could look upon the girl to his
heart's content without being seen, for he was sheltered by a cluster
of rough, tangled trees.  In all his life he had never beheld such a
beautiful face.  He longed to know her name, and to hear her speak.  He
recalled the glance she had given him with her expressive eyes ere they
had dropped before his ardent gaze.  But he knew that he was nothing to
her, and no doubt she had never thought of him again.  How could he
leave without finding out who she was, and where she was going?  But
she was a complete stranger to him, and he had no right to approach any
nearer.  It would be much better to worship at a distance and await a
favourable opportunity.

Presently he was aroused by a slight noise near at hand.  Glancing
quickly around to his right, his keen eyes detected the form of a man
slinking along among the bushes.  Dane could not see his face, but from
his attitude it was quite evident that the girl near the fire was the
object of his special attention.  At length he stopped, and, crouching
behind a small pile of brush kept his eyes fixed upon the unsuspecting
girl.

Dane was now thoroughly aroused, and he was about to spring forward and
demand an explanation for the man's suspicious actions, when the
crouching figure rose suddenly to a standing position, and then stepped
quickly forward.  The reason was at once apparent, for glancing toward
the fire, Dane saw that the girl had just left the children to their
parents' care with the evident intention of returning home.  In order
to do so, it was necessary for her to cross an upper portion of the
hillside, considered too rough and rocky for any one to pitch his
abode.  There was not the slightest semblance of a trail, but the girl
had traversed the place several times that day, so was quite sure of
her way.  Nevertheless, she glanced somewhat anxiously around as she
hurried  onward, especially so where the bushes and scrubby trees stood
the thickest.

Dane followed the man who was slinking along after the girl, and for a
while he was able to keep him in view.  Then he disappeared among the
trees, and as Dane stepped quickly forward so as not to miss him
altogether, a sudden cry of fear fell upon his ears.  That it came from
the girl he was well aware; telling plainly that she was in need of
help.  He leaped at once to her assistance, and in another minute he
saw her struggling in the arms of her assailant, and trying to free
herself from his grasp.  The next instant Dane was by her side, while a
blow from the clenched fist of his right hand sent the cowardly villain
reeling back among the trees.  Then like a tiger Dane was upon him, his
fingers clutching his throat as he pinned him to the ground.  The
fallen man fought and struggled desperately to tear away that fearful
vise-like grip, but all in vain.  At length his striving ceased, and
his body relaxed.  Then Dane unloosened his hold, and looked at the
girl.

"Shall I kill him?" he asked.

"No, no!" was the startled reply.  "That would be terrible!"

"But he tried to harm you.  If I kill him, he won't have a chance to
try again."

"Let him go," the girl pleaded.  "Perhaps this will teach him a lesson."

Dane, however, hesitated.  A passionate impulse urged him to make an
end of such a cowardly creature.  The spirit of the wild was strong
upon him, and his nature craved complete satisfaction.  How could it be
otherwise?  Steeped for years in the ways of the wilderness, he had
become a part of all that he had seen and heard.  He knew how the
beasts of the forest and the monarchs of the air dealt with their prey.
He had at times watched two great bull moose locked in deadly combat,
until one had gone down to defeat and death.  And around campfires at
night he had listened to rough men as they related tales of terrible
fights, grewsome murders, and sudden deaths.  Everywhere he turned it
was the same savage struggle, with only one outcome, the survival of
the strongest, and death to the vanquished.

While he thus sat upon the fallen man's body, reasoning with himself
what to do, the girl touched him lightly upon the arm.

"Let him go," she urged.  "You wouldn't kill a man when he is down,
would you?  That would be cowardly."

This appeal had an immediate effect, and slowly, though somewhat
reluctantly, Dane rose to his feet.

"He deserves to be killed," he growled.  Then he touched the man with
the toe of his right foot.  "Get up, you brute," he ordered.

This command was at once obeyed.  The defeated assailant scrambled to
his feet, and started to move away.  But Dane caught him roughly by the
arm, and faced him sharply around.

"Just a word," he began.  "You get clear this time, you devil, whoever
you are.  But if you lay hands on this young woman again I'll break
every bone in your body.  You won't escape, for I am Dane Norwood, the
King's Arrow, and what I say I mean.  Get out of this now as fast as
you can."

The next instant the man was gone, swallowed up by the darkness.

"Oh, how can I ever thank you enough?" the girl impulsively asked.
"You have saved me from that creature.  I didn't know that he was here."

"Who is he?" Dane asked.  "And where did he come from?"

"He is Seth Lupin, a man I hate and fear.  He must have come on one of
the other vessels, most likely as a stowaway.  He is not a Loyalist,
for he was a coward during the war, and has no right to be numbered
among us.  I am sure that daddy does not know he is here, and I am
almost afraid to tell him for fear he might do something desperate to
the villain.  But, then, we shall soon be away from this place, so it
is hardly likely that Seth will follow us."

They were walking slowly now, picking their way with difficulty across
the rough hillside.  Dane's soul was athrill in the presence of this
girl who had affected him in such a wonderful manner.  It was almost
too good to be true that he had rescued her, and was now so close to
her.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Up river, I believe.  But just where I do not know.  Daddy hasn't
drawn his lot of land yet."

"What is your name?"

"Jean."

"I like it.  But Jean what?"

"Sterling."

"Did you ever live in the woods?"

"No.  This is my first experience."

"Do you think you will like it?  Won't you be afraid?"

"I am going to do my best to like it.  And why should I be afraid?"

"Because of men, especially the slashers; that's why."

"Who are the slashers?"

"Rebels who oppose the King's men in cutting masts.  They wander
everywhere, slashing as they go, and ruining the forests."

"But why should I be afraid of them?  They have never heard of me."

"But they will soon hear of you, though."  Dane stopped abruptly, and
laid his hand upon her arm.  "Say, do you know how beautiful you are?"

Jean was somewhat startled by this strange question.

"What makes you ask that?"

"Because if you don't know, then you are not aware of your danger.
That villain, Lupin, knows of your beauty, so he followed you here.
The slashers and others will soon know, too, and I might not always be
on hand.  This is just a friendly warning."

Jean's heart was beating rapidly, while the darkness hid her flushed
face.

"T-thank you," she stammered.  "I think I understand your meaning,
although I am not used to such plain words, especially from a stranger.
But I feel I can trust you."

"In a country such as this we use plain language, Miss Sterling.  I
have warned you of your danger because I am deeply interested in your
welfare.  You can trust me, for, thank God, I have had a noble mother's
training, and was taught to respect women.  But, we are almost at your
home, so I must leave you."

"Forgive me," Jean begged, as Dane was about to hurry away.  "I
appreciate what you have told me and done for me to-night, I shall
always remember your kindness, and I hope to see you again."

"I hope so, too, and soon at that," was the fervent reply.

Dane hardly knew how he reached the lake.  He felt that he had made a
fool of himself.  Never before had he spoken to a girl in such a
straightforward manner.  What must she think of him?

"I could not help it," he told himself.  "She needed to be warned.  She
doesn't realise her danger.  She can't surely know how beautiful she
is."




CHAPTER V

"TRY IT"

The early morning sun, slanting in through a small window, found Major
Studholme seated at his table lost in deep thought.  The letter Dane
had brought was lying open before him.  Occasionally he glanced toward
it, and each time his brow knitted in perplexity.  At length he rose
and paced rapidly up and down the room.  With the exception of the
table and a few stools this office was destitute of any furniture.  It
was as bleak as the hill upon which Fort Howe was situated.  Here the
men of the garrison received their orders, and it was here that the
Major interviewed visitors from Portland Point, and couriers from all
sections of the country.  This commanding officer was the same to all
men, so the humblest workman in the trading company's employ, or the
uncouth native from the heart of the wilderness received just as much
attention as men of high rank.  Stern and unbending in the line of
duty, Major Studholme realised the importance of his position, and that
as a superior officer in the service of his King he must render
even-handed justice, irrespective of color or rank.  A sharp
rat-tat-tat upon the door startled him.

"Come in," he called.

At once the door swung open, and a stalwart, sturdy man entered,
carrying a stout stick in his hand which he used as a cane.

"Ah, good morning, Mr. Simonds," the Major accosted, his face
brightening with pleasure and relief as he held out his hand.  "I
didn't expect you so early."

"Umph! this is not early," the visitor replied.  "It seems late to me.
Why, I've been up all night.  Not a wink of sleep have I had.  But,
say, I've something here that'll refresh us both."

Drawing a flask from an inner pocket, he stepped forward and placed it
upon the table.

"Have a noggin, Major.  The _Polly_ arrived last night, straight from
the West Indies, and Leavitt brought me some special Old Jamaica.  I
thought maybe you'd like to test it."

In a twinkling two mugs were produced, and filled to the brim.

"To the King, God bless him," Simonds toasted.

"To the King," the Major responded, as he raised his mug and clinked it
against the visitor's.

When this toast had been drunk, the Major again filled the mugs.

"Now, another," he cried.  "To the Loyalists, especially to Colonel
Sterling's daughter, the fairest of them all."

"To the Loyalists and the Colonel's daughter," Simonds repeated.

Again the mugs clinked, and two honest men drank their second toast.
This done, they took their seats at the table, and settled down to
business of a most important nature.

James Simonds was really the business pioneer of Portland Point.  He
was a man of outstanding ability and remarkable energy.  For years he
had been the moving spirit and leader in numerous enterprises.  Of him
and his partner, James White, it was said that "At one time the fishery
claimed their attention, at another the Indian trade; at one time the
building of houses for themselves and their tenants, at another the
dyking of the marsh; at one time they were engaged in the erection of a
mill, at another the building of a schooner; at one time they were
making a wharf, at another laying out roads or clearing land; at one
time they were furnishing supplies and cordwood to the garrison, at
another in burning and shipping lime."  In addition to this they owned
and employed a score of vessels, both schooners and sloops, which plied
not only on the river, but beyond the Bay to distant ports.

It was only natural that the commanding officer of Fort Howe should
call upon the senior partner of the company for advice and assistance
in time of need.  And two serious problems had now been thrust upon
him.  One was the care and disposal of the three thousand Loyalists;
the other, the arrival of Dane Norwood with news of threatening trouble
up river.

"How many vessels have you on hand?" the Major asked.

"Only a few," Simonds replied.  "But I expect several more in a few
days.  The _Peggy & Molly_ is already spoken for by the people on the
_Union_.  They haven't disembarked, as they plan to go up river at
once."

"And you say the _Polly_ arrived last night?"

"Yes, and she is unloading now."

"Well, I want you to keep her for Colonel Sterling, and a number of
other people."

"So the Colonel is going to leave, is he?  I was hoping that he would
stay here.  Where does he expect to settle?"

"It is not decided yet.  However, we shall know in a few days when the
lots are drawn."

"There will be a big load, I suppose.  They'll want to take their
boards, shingles, and household effects, no doubt."

"Yes, if you can manage it; otherwise Leavitt will have to make two
trips.  And there is something else I want to send."

The Major leaned forward, and touched the letter lying upon the table.

"I received this yesterday from Davidson," he explained, "and he
requests immediate help."

"He does?  What's wrong?"

"The slashers are giving him no end of trouble.  There is danger of a
serious outbreak, and he has not enough men to cope with the situation."

"So he wants you to send soldiers?"

"He does, and at once.  But I cannot spare any men now, as I have
barely enough to guard this place.  There are rebels in our midst, and
it is hard to tell what mischief they are planning."

"How do you know that?" the trader asked in surprise.  "I thought they
were all up river."

"And so did I until last night.  But the young man who brought this
letter from Davidson was attacked by three slashers as he was searching
for me.  They met him as he was coming from your store along the
waterfront.  Fortunately he was able to put the three to route."

"How did he know they were slashers?"

"Because they demanded the letter he was carrying.  It proves that they
were spies, and knew from whence the courier had come."

"It does seem reasonable," the trader agreed.  "But I did not know they
were hanging around our store.  There has been such a crowd there,
though, the last two days that I could not tell the slashers from the
Loyalists.  However, I shall keep a sharp watch after this, and if I
catch them I shall let you know at once.  But what about Davidson?  He
must be hard pressed, or he would not have sent you that urgent appeal."

"I can't send him any men, Mr. Simonds, that's certain," and the Major
thrummed upon the table as he spoke.  "Why, it would take a regiment to
do any good, and I have barely fifty men in all.  But I am going to
send him a supply of guns and ammunition.  They must go on the _Polly_,
and you are to give Leavitt strict instructions to see that they are
delivered to Davidson as speedily as possible.  That is the best I can
do."

A sharp rap sounded upon the door, and at once a soldier entered.  He
advanced to the centre of the room, stopped, clicked his heels
together, saluted, and stood at attention.

"Well, Parker, what is it?" the Major asked..

"A man to see you, sir."

"A courier?"

"Yes, sir."

"Send him in at once."

"Yes, sir."

Again the soldier saluted, wheeled, and left the room.  In another
minute Dane entered, and at once walked over to where the two men were
sitting.  His free and easy manner was in striking contrast to the
soldier's, and this the Major noted.  He admired the courier's frank
open countenance, and clear, fearless eyes.  He was a man after his own
heart.

"I am glad to see you on time," he accosted.

"I generally try to be," Dane replied.  "Have you the message for
Davidson?"

"It's not ready yet, but I shall write it at once."

The Major turned to the table, drew a sheet of paper toward him, and
picked up a quill pen, which he examined critically before dipping it
into the ink.  Again he turned to the courier.

"The situation is serious up river, is it not?" he asked.

"It certainly is.  Davidson must have help."

"Where is the greatest danger?"

"That is hard to tell.  The slashers are scattered over a wide extent
of country, and are to be found in most unexpected places.  Why, you
have them in and around here.  My Indian and I were fired upon
yesterday while crossing the Kennebacasis, and I was attacked by three
while leaving the trading post."

"And you were fired upon yesterday, you say?" the Major asked in
surprise.  "How far out?"

"About ten miles.  We had just crossed the portage from the main river
to the Kennebacasis when we heard the slashers at work.  We launched
our canoe, and were heading for this side when they blazed at us
several times."

"Dear me!  Dear me!" the Major groaned.  "I didn't know they were as
bold as all that."

"And they will be bolder yet," Dane warned.

"In what way?"

"They will stir up the Indians, if I am not much mistaken."

"But the Indians are friendly to us.  Why, we made a treaty with them
right here nearly five years ago."

"I know that.  But the Indians have become quite restless of late.
When the war was on they received special attention from the English
and the Americans.  Both sides were anxious to win their good will and
support, and gave them many presents.  But now that the war is over the
Indians are neglected, so they are becoming surly, and ready for
mischief.  Mark my word, the arrival of these Loyalists will make
matters worse."

"In what way?"

"The slashers will do their utmost to stir up the Indians.  They will
tell them that these newcomers will settle on their hunting-grounds,
and kill all their game, while they will be driven out and left to
starve."

"Surely they will not do that."

"They have been doing it already, although they know nothing as yet
about the coming of the Loyalists.  They have been filling the minds of
the Indians with all kinds of false stories.  So far their words have
had little definite effect, but when the natives see so many white
people settling along the river, I am afraid they will remember what
the slashers have told them, and trouble will follow.  Some of the
Indians, I am sure, will stand by the treaty, but I have my doubts
about many others."

During this conversation Mr. Simonds had been a silent and interested
listener.  When, however, Dane had ended, he brought his stick down
upon the floor with a bang.

"I believe you are right, young man," he began.  "White and I have had
our suspicions of this for some time, and your words confirm what we
have by chance heard.  Where do you live, and how is it I have never
seen you before?"

"I live in no special place," Dane replied.  "My business as the King's
Arrow takes me everywhere, although this is the first time I have been
sent here."

"How did you come to get that name?"

"Davidson gave it to me.  You know, every white pine that is considered
suitable for the King's navy is marked with a broad arrow, I guess that
suggested the idea to Davidson, as I am always darting here and there
like an arrow.  Anyway, the name has stuck to me ever since."

"And well that it should," the trader agreed, nodding his head in
approval.  "Don't you think so, Major?"

The latter, however, was busily writing, so did not hear the question.
Presently he paused and turned to the courier.

"So you think the Loyalists will be in danger along the river?" he
asked.

"They will, unless the slashers and others who are against the King can
be stopped."

"Who is the ringleader in this rebellion?"

For the first time since entering the room Dane failed to reply.  His
bronzed face flushed, and his eyes dropped.  This both the Major and
the trader noted, and their curiosity became aroused.  They felt that
this courier knew more than he was willing to divulge.

"Are you afraid to tell?" the Major questioned.

Dane suddenly lifted his head, and an angry expression glowed in his
eyes.

"Do you think I am afraid?" he demanded.  "Do I look it?"

"Well, no," and the Major slightly smiled.  "But why will you not tell
me the name of the ringleader?"

"Because I have a special reason."

"Suppose I make you?"

"Try it."

Although this reply was low and calm, yet the Major had sufficient
knowledge of human nature to know that those two small words meant a
great deal.  He truly realised that nothing, not even death, could
force this sturdy courier to divulge the secret against his will.  He
wisely dropped the subject, and turned again to the table.  Nothing now
was heard in the room but the scratching of the quill across the paper
as the Major fashioned the bold comely letters of his answer to William
Davidson, the King's purveyor.  When he had signed his name, he picked
up a small sand-box, and lightly sprinkled the paper.  This done, he
rose to his feet, crossed the room, and opened the door.

"Parker, bring me a fire," he ordered.

The soldier thus addressed evidently knew what was needed, for in a few
minutes he entered, bearing in his hands a small iron receptacle
containing a few hot coals.  He stood perfectly rigid before the table
while the Major held a stick of sealing-wax to the hot iron, and
allowed a few drops to fall upon the back of the folded letter.  When
the Major had pressed his signet ring upon the wax, the task was
finished, the soldier saluted and left the room.  After the Major had
addressed the letter, and sprinkled it until the ink was dry, he handed
it to the courier.

"Take this to Davidson," he ordered.  "I am glad that I have met you,
young man, and I hope to hear from you again."

Dane took the letter, placed it carefully in an inside pocket of his
jacket, bade the two men good morning, and at once left the room.

"What do you think of him?" the Major asked turning toward the trader.

"A remarkable young man," was the emphatic reply.  "But I am surprised
that I have not heard of him before."

"It is strange.  But look here, Mr. Simonds," and the Major brought his
fist down heavily upon the table, "if I had a regiment of men like that
courier to send to Davidson, we would have no more trouble with the
slashers and other rebels."

"You're about right, Major.  But I'm wondering why he refused to tell
us the name of that ringleader.  I must get White to work at this.  He
may be able to find out, for he can do more with the Indians than
anybody else."

"I wish you would look carefully into this matter," the Major replied.
"If we can round up that ringleader, it may put a sudden stop to the
whole trouble.  I shall send half of my men to capture him if he can be
found."




CHAPTER VI

WHEN THE BOW-STRING TWANGED

The little schooner _Polly_, of twenty tons burden, had come on the
flood tide up through the Reversible Falls.  She had then slipped out
of the Narrows where the grey, weather-beaten limestone rocks frown
high on both sides, and was clipping merrily across the big basin of
Grand Bay straight for Beaubear's River.  She was well loaded, for over
a dozen families were on board, with their household effects, together
with a large supply of boards and shingles.  In addition, there were
the guns which Major Studholme was sending up river to William
Davidson, the King's purveyor.

It was a beautiful early June day, and as Jean Sterling stood close at
the bow she thought that she had never beheld a more perfect sight.
Everywhere she looked great sweeping forests were to be seen crowding
to the very water's edge.  She breathed a deep sigh of relief, for she
was glad to be speeding at last toward her new home in the wilderness.
Surely there she would find refuge from the man who had been dogging
her steps ever since she landed at Portland Point.  He had not spoken
to her after his defeat by Dane Norwood, but she knew that he had ever
been near, following and watching her wherever she went.  She thought,
too, of him who had rescued her that night, and her eyes brightened.
He had seldom been out of her mind since then, and she recalled again
his pleasing presence and the words he had spoken.  She wondered if she
should ever see him again, or whether he had forgotten her altogether.

She was aroused by her father's voice, and glancing quickly around she
saw him coming toward her, and with him the captain of the schooner,
Jonathan Leavitt.

"Been indulging in day-dreams?" her father asked.

"I believe I have," she smilingly replied, while a conscious blush
stole into her cheeks.  "And why shouldn't I?" she hastily added.  "Who
could help having daydreams in such a wonderful place as this?"

"I am glad to see you so bright and happy, dear.  Poor Old Mammy is
indulging in night-dreams, and moaning about our terrible lot."

"Night-mares, I should say," the captain laughingly corrected.  "To
hear her wail and lament one would think that we are all going to be
scalped alive before morning."

"And there are others who have the same idea," the Colonel replied.
"They can see nothing but misery and death right ahead."

"But is there any real danger, captain?" Jean asked.

"There is always more or less danger in a country such as this," was
the quiet reply.  "This river has witnessed stirring scenes.  Look at
those little clearings over yonder, for instance," and he pointed to
the western shore.  "A few settlers had their homes there, but the
Indians drove them out, and burned their houses.  It has been the same
in other places, and it may happen again.  But I have made many trips
on this river, and the natives have never troubled me yet.  It may be
because I sail on the _Polly_," he added with a twinkle in his eyes.

"What has the _Polly_ to do with it, captain?"

"Oh, she leads a charmed life.  She has got into no end of difficult
places, but has always come out on top.  I have driven her through
storms between here and the West Indies that would have swamped a much
larger vessel.  At one time she was forced by a wild gale on the top of
the wharf at Newburyport.  But she was pulled off all right.  Several
times she was captured by pirates, though generally she was able to
show her heels in a lively manner to the fastest pursuer.  She has
carried all kinds of loads, from fish taken at Annapolis and
Passamaquoddy to barrels of rum from Jamaica.  But this is the most
important cargo she ever carried, and she seems proud of it.  She's
English to the core, the _Polly_ is.  Now, look how she swings away
from that point.  She doesn't like the place."

"Why?" the colonel asked.  "It is a most beautiful spot."

"Indeed it is, but the _Polly_ always shies off when she comes here.
No doubt it's due to the current from that little stream, the Beaubear,
but I like to think that this schooner knows that the old French Fort,
Boishebert, was situated on that point.  You can see the ruins of the
place from here.  No, the _Polly_ doesn't like the French; guess she's
had too much to do with them, the same as her captain."

They were out of Grand Bay now and bearing up through a fine stretch of
water known as the "Long Reach."  The land on both sides of the river
was rugged, while far ahead the outlines of several islands could be
discerned.

"And there's another," the captain exclaimed in disgust.

"Another what?" Jean asked.

"Oh, a place where the French once held out.  It's that first island
you see away up there.  The Indian name is 'Ah-men-henik,' but the
French called it 'Isle au Garce,' for what reason I don't know.
Anyway, there were lively times on that island when the French had a
trading post there.  It now belongs to Captain Isaac Caton.  There's a
small rocky island a little above, which the French called 'Isle de
trent,' while just above is the 'Isle of Vines.'  It is in behind that
where you are to land, just below Oak Point."

"Is it a pretty place?" Jean asked, now much excited.  "Have you ever
been there?"

"Not often, Miss.  I generally keep out in the main channel, as I
haven't the time to run into any of the out-of-the-way places.  But I
guess you'll like it all right."

"I am going to like it," the girl declared with enthusiasm.  "And what
is more, I am going to do my best to make others like it, too.  It will
be our home only for a while until daddy and the other men can look
around and choose places where they are to settle permanently.  Mammy,
I believe, will be the hardest one to manage.  She means well, and
makes all kinds of promises, though she is very forgetful.  I must now
go and cheer her up."

An hour and a half later the _Polly_ left the channel and glided in
through a narrow opening between the first island and the mainland.
Captain Leavitt was at the wheel, for navigation here was difficult.
Jean was standing by his side, her eyes and face aglow with animation.

"What a wonderful and beautiful place this is!" she exclaimed.  "Those
islands lying over there, and that long point running out into the
river make this a perfect harbour.  Where do we land, captain?"

"Straight ahead, Miss, where those big pines stand the thickest," the
captain replied as he gave the wheel a rapid turn to the left.  "Say, I
nearly struck that bar," he added.  "I didn't know it ran out so far
from the island."

In less than a half hour the _Polly_ was brought up head to the wind,
and the anchor dropped.  The small boat, which had been towed astern,
was brought into service, and the passengers taken ashore.  It was a
snug cove where these exiles had determined for a time to make their
wilderness home.  The land lifted gradually back to the high hills, all
covered with a dense forest.  Eastward, toward the point, the trees
were thinner, and in some spots the land had been cleared, evidently by
early French settlers.  To the northwest the water extended inland in
the form of a marshy creek, with a fair-sized brook beyond, flanked on
both sides by high hills.

It wanted but two hours to sunset when the passengers were landed, and
their household effects brought ashore.  It was a busy time, for
camping sites had to be chosen, underbrush cleared away, and tents
pitched.  But men and women alike worked with a hearty good will.
There was something thrilling and invigorating in this new and strange
life.  It was most restful after the tumult and distractions of war,
the unpleasant ocean voyage, and the landing at desolate Portland
Point.  The warmth and brightness of the day, the fragrance of the
forest, and the happy laughter of children racing along the sandy shore
charmed and inspired the parents' hearts.  Even Old Mammy forgot for a
time her gloomy forbodings, and was quite cheerful as she helped Jean
to unpack some of their household belongings.

The Colonel had pitched his tent in a snug retreat several rods back
from the water.  When the last peg had been driven securely into the
ground, he stepped back to view the effect.

"How does that suit you, dear?" he asked, turning to Jean who was
standing near by.

"I think it is great, daddy," was the enthusiastic reply.  "This is the
happiest and most peaceful time I have known for years.  It is like a
perfect calm after a terrible storm."

"I am very thankful, Jean, that our wanderings are at last ended.  Here
we shall stay for a time until we can choose a suitable place for our
future home.  When we get our house built we should be quite
comfortable.  We are on English soil, at any rate, and that is a great
satisfaction.  We are not likely to be molested here."

"Not if the Indians and rebels leave us alone, daddy."

"You must not worry about them, dear.  We have had no quarrel with
them, so why should they molest us?  I feel that we are perfectly safe."

Night at length shut down slowly over the land, and a deep silence
reigned on all sides.  The weary children were asleep in the tents, and
men and women were gathered upon the shore.  A fire of drift-wood had
been built, and around the bright cheerful blaze all were gathered.
The small crew of the schooner had come ashore, and were taking part in
the general conversation.  For some time they sat there, talking of
bygone days and plans for the future.

Colonel Sterling took little part in the talk.  He sat upon a block of
wood, with Jean seated on the ground by his side, her right arm resting
upon his knee as she gazed dreamily into the fire.  He was much
interested in studying the flame-illumined faces of that little circle
of men and women.  He knew the history of their lives, what they had
suffered during the war, and how much they had sacrificed for
conscience's sake.  A few were bowed with age, and their late trials
had deepened the furrows upon their faces, and increased the whiteness
of their hoary heads.  Upon them the removal from their old homes had
been the hardest.  There were others, middle-aged men and women, whose
eyes glowed with the light of a high resolve.  Their features expressed
determination which nothing could daunt.  These said but little,
leaving the younger ones to do most of the talking.  There were youths
and maidens, more free from care than their elders, who chatted and
laughed in the most animated manner.

As the evening wore on and the conversation gradually died down, Simon
Winters brought forth his fife and began to play an old familiar tune.
At once all talking ceased, and hearts thrilled with memories of other
days.  Several tunes did Simon play, and when he had ended, the Colonel
brought forth a small, well-worn book from an inside coat pocket.  This
he opened and then glanced around upon the little band.

"Friends," he began, "the hour is late, and we are all weary.  But ere
we separate, I ask you to join with me in a brief service of prayer and
praise.  But first of all, we need a message from the Great Book."

Then in a clear strong voice he read the ninety-first psalm, and as the
words of promise sounded forth an intense silence reigned.  The psalm
ended, the Colonel closed the book, and dropping upon his knees began
to repeat the Lord's Prayer.  All immediately followed his example,
including the captain and the crew of the schooner.  As they rose to
their feet, one man started to sing.  The words and tune were familiar,
and in another minute old and young were lifting up their voices in
Isaac Watts' grand hymn of comfort and hope.

  O God, our help in ages past,
  Our hope for years to come,
  Our shelter from the stormy blast,
  And our eternal home.

Never before had the silent, brooding forest witnessed a like
gathering, nor its dark mysterious depths re-echoed with such
unfamiliar sounds.  But that camp-fire scene was merely a prelude to
the tide of progress already setting, when unnamed rivers, hidden
lakes, crouching valleys, lofty hills, and secret woodland depths would
know those sounds, and rejoice in the knowledge.

An hour later silence reigned over the camp in the wilderness, broken
only by the occasional hoot of an owl, or the light steps of some
little forest creature.

About midnight the moon rose beyond the eastern hills, and rode high
above the Isle of Vines.  It cast its bright beams across the now
placid water, and stole on furtive foot into the camping ground of the
weary sleepers.  As the river and shore thus became illuminated, a tall
Indian stepped out from the darkness of the forest, and stood for a few
minutes gazing upon the ghost-like tents.  In one hand he carried a
heavy flint-lock, and in the other a string of fine trout, while across
his right shoulder hung a long bow and several arrows.  He was not at
all surprised at the sight before him, as he had been lurking near all
the evening, watching with intense interest the group about the
camp-fire.  His attention now, however, was fixed upon the tent where
Jean and Old Mammy were sleeping, and the Colonel's form wrapped in his
blankets just outside.

At length he placed his gun and fish upon the ground, unslung the bow
from his back, and fitted an arrow to its place.  Then the bow-string
twanged, and the arrow hurtled through the air, and sank deep into a
great pine tree a few feet from where the Colonel was lying.  For
several minutes the Indian stood as motionless as the trees around him.
Then picking up the fish, he glided silently forward, and reaching the
pine, he fastened them to the embedded arrow.  This done, he cast a
quick glance toward the still form near at hand, turned and moved
swiftly away.  In another minute he had recovered his weapons, and
disappeared in the depths of the great gloomy forest.




CHAPTER VII

OUT OF THE STORM

Early the next morning Old Mammy drew back the flap of the tent,
stepped outside, and waddled over to where she had prepared supper the
previous evening.  She had always prided herself upon being the first
to rise, and she was determined that she would continue the custom here
in the wilderness.

The sun had just risen above the far off eastern horizon, and was
struggling to disentangle itself from the drifting tresses of fog
hanging in massy banks over the river.  Slowly but surely it slipped
away from each misty, tremulous embrace, and then like a giant
refreshed by the encounter assumed the offensive.  Before the mighty
champion's silent fiery darts the surging foggy battalions wavered,
loosened their hold on river and land, and broke in utter confusion.
Wildly they scattered and fled, but escape they could not, and ere long
not the slightest vestige remained of their once proud ranks.

Of all this Old Mammy saw nothing, as she was too busy digging among
the ashes of the fire-place for a few live coals.  It was only Jean who
witnessed the magnificent sight.  She had slipped out of the tent
shortly after her old servant, and had hurried down to the shore for
her morning wash.  Here Mother Nature had provided her with basin and
mirror combined in the calm water at her feet.  Straight and lithe she
stood, her dark, unbound hair flowing in ripples to her waist.  Her
face, turned eastward, was aglow with health and animation, and her
eyes shone with the light of a joyous surprise.

"Isn't it wonderful!" she breathed.  "I never saw anything like it.
Why, it's a real fairy-land."

She was startled by a cry from Mammy, and turning quickly around, she
saw the woman pointing excitedly to the big pine tree.  The Colonel,
aroused from slumber, had leaped to his feet, and was staring straight
before him as Jean hurried up from the shore.

"What is the matter?" the girl asked.

"Look, look!" Mammy cried, pointing to the tree.  "De debbil has been
here."

Jean's eyes were now resting upon the object of the woman's excitement,
and she, too, was filled with astonishment.  She stared at the trout
and the arrow, and then looked wonderingly at her father.

"How do you suppose they got there, daddy?" she questioned.

"It was de debbil, I tell ye," Mammy insisted before the Colonel could
speak.  "He's been in dis place, an' dat's his mark."

"He must be very friendly, then," the Colonel replied.  "I don't mind
how often he comes if he leaves fish, and they are trout at that."

By this time the entire camp had been aroused, and men, women and
children were gathered near, gazing with wide-eyed astonishment upon
the big pine.  There were numerous conjectures as to the meaning of the
arrow and the fish.  Most, however, were of the opinion that it was the
work of Indians, and that no doubt they were lurking near.  Fearful
glances were cast along the silent forest aisles, and vivid imagination
pictured dusky warriors ready to swoop down with terrible war-whoops.
But Old Mammy scoffed at this idea.

"It's de debbil, I tell ye, an' no Injun," she declared.  "Dat's his
mark, an' he's plannin' some mischief.  It's a warnin' to us all.  We
nebber should hab come to sich a place as dis."

The Colonel listened with considerable amusement to what was being
said.  At length, however, he stepped forward and laid his right hand
upon the fish.  With a cry of fear Mammy sprang to his side.

"Doan touch 'em!  Doan touch 'em!" she shrieked.  "It ain't safe!  It
ain't safe!"

"Why, Mammy, what do you mean?" the Colonel asked.

"Go 'way, go 'way," the excited woman pleaded.  "Dey belong to de
debbil, an' he'll bewitch ye.  Doan touch 'em."

"Look here, Mammy," and there was a note of sternness in the Colonel's
voice, "I want you to be quiet.  I thought you had more sense.  The
devil had nothing to do with this.  It's the Lord's arrow, it seems to
me.  He sent the ravens of old to feed his faithful servant in the
wilderness, so perhaps he has sent the Indians to do the same to us
now.  Anyway, we are going to have a taste of fish for breakfast.  It
would be a shame to throw away such excellent trout."

Jean had been a silent and interested spectator of all that had taken
place.  Like her father she was somewhat amused at the various
expressions of fear.  She was not afraid of the Indians, neither was
she superstitious enough to believe that the devil had anything to do
with the arrow and the fish.  But when the Colonel spoke about the
"Lord's Arrow," she gave a sudden start, while the light of
understanding dawned in her eyes.  The "King's Arrow" at once came into
her mind, and she thought of him who had come to her rescue at Portland
Point.  Could it be possible that he had anything to do with it? she
asked herself.  Was that arrow a token that he was near?  And were the
fish a sign of his care?  She glanced around as if expecting to see him
emerge from the forest to explain the whole matter.  Her heart beat
fast, and the rich blood tingled to her cheeks.  She withdrew a few
steps lest her confusion should be observed.  The King's Arrow.  The
King's Arrow.  It kept surging through her mind.  It could be no one
else, she reasoned.  She longed to speak, to tell of the discovery she
had made.  But how could she explain?  Would she not betray her
feelings, and thus increase her embarrassment?  Would it not be better
to remain silent than to lay bare to others the thoughts which were
agitating her heart and mind?

She was aroused by her father bidding her to help prepare one of the
fish for breakfast, as Mammy would have nothing to do with it.  She
obeyed with alacrity, pleased to have something to do.  As she looked
upon the speckled beauty she thought how like an arrow it appeared; its
long, lithe body resembling the smooth shaft; the head and gills the
barbed point; and the spreading tail the feathered end.  She wondered
if there was a meaning in all this, or was it merely her own foolish
imagination?

She thought much about this during the days that followed, although she
mentioned it to no one, not even to Old Mammy.  For several nights a
number of the younger men had kept watch, with their special attention
directed to the big pine.  This, however, soon proved very irksome, and
as nothing further happened, the watch was discontinued.  The men
worked hard by day erecting their rude log cabins, so they could ill
afford to sit up all night.  A feeling of security gradually pervaded
the camp, and all became cheerful and hopeful.

At a meeting held one night they decided upon the name "Loyal" for
their little community.

"I feel we could not choose a better one," the Colonel said.  "Every
one here is an outcast for loyalty to the King, and when we get our
flag-staff erected, the Union Jack floating above the trees will be a
reminder to friend and foe alike of our unswerving devotion."

No one had interfered with the arrow embedded in the pine, and that
lordly tree had been left standing while most of its nearby companions
had fallen beneath the axe.  Not a day passed that Jean did not glance
toward the arrow, and each time she thought of him who had become so
real to her.  But for two weeks no further sign was vouchsafed, until
one morning as she came forth from her tent she saw a brace of fine
partridges hanging from the arrow.  Once more excitement spread
throughout the camp, and again various conjectures were heard as to the
presence of the partridges.  The birds were carefully examined, and
several small pieces of lead were found in their bodies.  Jean showed
these to Mammy in her effort to convince the superstitious servant that
the devil had nothing to do with it.

"Why, these birds were shot, Mammy," she explained.  "Some one with a
gun did it, and brought them to us."

"Ah, Missie Jean," and the old woman raised a warning finger, "de
debbil knows eberyt'ing.  He kin use a gun when he wants to, an' he kin
make men do his nasty work.  Didn't he put it into de heart of ol'
Judas Scariot to betray de good Lo'd?  An' mark my word, dat's jes what
he's doin' now.  He's up to some trick."

"But why would he be so friendly, Mammy?  He's helping us instead of
trying to do us harm."

"Doan ye know yo' Bible, chile?  Doesn't it say in de Good Book dat de
debbil comes to folks as an angel of light, an' makes 'em b'lieve dat
he's friendly an' good?  No, ye kin nebber trust de debbil.  He's got
somet'ing up his sleeve, an' doan yo' fo'git it."

Jean merely smiled at the woman's fears, knowing how useless it was to
reason any further.  She was satisfied in her own mind where the birds
had come from, and the thought brought a thrill to her heart.  This was
intensified several days later when two wild ducks were found one
morning suspended from the arrow.

"This is getting to be almost uncanny," the Colonel remarked as he
examined the birds.  "Whoever is responsible for these presents is a
strange friend.  I wish he would make himself known that we might thank
him."

Jean was of the same opinion, although she did not say so.  She had
often wondered why Dane Norwood had remained hidden.  That it was the
courier she had not the slightest doubt.  But why did he not come by
day that she might see him?

Two weeks passed and nothing more happened.  Most of the houses were
almost completed.  The Colonel had his finished first, and it was a
proud day when he gave the order to move their few belongings from the
tent.  This was soon done, and Jean and Mammy spent the whole of the
afternoon fitting up their new abode.  The day was unusually hot, and
at times they were forced to seek shelter beneath the shade of some
friendly trees.  Night brought but little respite, and even Old Mammy
complained of the heat.

"Dis is de first time I'se been wa'm since comin' to dis place," she
announced.  "It reminds me of my ol' home in de Souf, it sa'tinly does."

At length a vivid flash of lightning streaked the air, followed
immediately by a roll of thunder off to the west.

"It's just what I've been expecting" the Colonel remarked, as he walked
over to the door and looked out.  "Such heat as we've had to-day is
generally followed by a thunder storm.  It is coming this way fast.
Listen to that."

The storm was rolling up rapidly over the hills, while the play of the
lightning was grand and terrible.  And mingled with the roar of thunder
was the sound of the hurrying feet of the rain driven before the
onrushing wind.  Suddenly a blinding flash illumined water and land,
followed instantly by a crash that shook the cabin.  Old Mammy gave a
shriek of fear, and caught Jean in her arms.

"Oh, oh, oh!" she moaned.  "Dis is turrible!  We'll all be killed!
We'll all be killed!"

"Hush, hush, Mammy," Jean ordered.  "Don't get so excited.  This storm
will soon be over, will it not, daddy?"

"Most likely," the Colonel replied.  "But come here, dear, I want you
to see this wonderful electric display upon the water."

Freeing herself from the colored woman's embrace, the girl rose,
crossed the room, and stood by her father's side.  As she turned her
eyes upon the river, she gave a gasp of astonishment.  Between the
shore and the Isle of Vines the lightning was holding high carnival.
For an instant there was intense darkness, followed by a succession of
brilliant, flickering illuminations, bewildering to the senses.
Several times she was forced to turn away her head, but only for a
second, as she was compelled by some strange fascination to look upon
the wonderful spectacle.  Flash upon flash, racing gleam upon gleam,
Stygian darkness and crashing thunder intermingled in an appalling
confusion.  Jean felt that she could endure the sight no longer.  Her
body trembled, and her eyes ached.  She was about to go back to Mammy,
when her father laid his hand upon her shoulder.

"What is that out there?" he asked.  "Ah, it's gone now.  It seemed to
me like a boat.  There it is again."

Jean looked and for a few seconds was enabled to catch a glimpse of a
craft of some kind coming to them straight from the island.

"It is a canoe, daddy, and I can see some one paddling.  Who can it be
on the river in such a storm as this?"

And just then the rain swept down, forcing them to retreat a few steps
within the cabin.  But still they peered forth, and with fast-beating
hearts watched the approaching voyager.  Whenever a glimmering flash
revealed the canoe, it resembled a mystic bark riding through the
storm, encircled with a living fire.  So weird and mysterious did it
seem that Jean caught her father impulsively by the arm, while a slight
cry of awe escaped her lips.

"It isn't natural, daddy," she whispered.  "It's uncanny.  Do you
suppose it's a spirit?"

"No, no, dear.  It's an Indian, no doubt.  Look, he has stopped
paddling now, and is about to land."

Darkness again intervened, and the next flash revealed a tall form
stepping upon the shore as blackness once more enshrouded him.  The
next glimpse showed him coming toward the cabin, carrying a bundle in
his arms.  In another minute he was at the door, an Indian of
magnificent physique, clad in buckskins, with a squirrel-skin cap upon
his head.  He smiled as he looked upon the astonished ones before him.
Then he held out the bundle toward the girl.

"White woman tak' babby, eh?" he asked,

But Jean hesitated, and drew back a little.  This seemed to surprise
the Indian.

"Babby no hurt white woman," he explained.  "Babby velly leetle.  Babby
no home, no mamma."

No longer could Jean resist such an appeal, so stepping forward, she
took the bundle in her arms.  Awkwardly she held it, uncertain what to
do.  Then Old Mammy came to her aid, and relieved her of her burden.

"Why, chile, yo' doan know how to hol' a baby," she reproached.  "Yo'
hol' it upside-down.  Yo' nebber had 'sperience wif babies.  Dis o'
woman'll show yo' how."

Seating herself upon a bench, she removed the blanket with which the
child was enwrapped.  Jean dropped upon her knees by her side, and when
a little dusky face was exposed to view, she gave a cry of delight.

"Isn't it pretty!" she exclaimed.  "And it's asleep, too."

The Indian's eyes shone with pleasure as he watched the girl's interest
in the little child.

"White woman tak' care babby, eh?"

"You want us to keep it?" Jean asked.

"Ah-ha-ha.  Wan moon, two moon, mebbe.  Injun come bimeby."

Jean turned to her father, who had been standing silently near the door.

"May we keep it, daddy?"

"Ask Mammy," the Colonel replied.  "If she is willing, I have no
objections.  She is the only one in this house who knows how to look
after a baby."

"I'se willin', Cun'l," the old woman agreed.  "It makes me t'ink of de
lil'l chile I los' long time ago in ol' Connec.  Yes, I'se willin'."

The Indian understood, and smiled.  He turned to go, but paused and
looked at Jean.

"White woman keep canoe, eh?" he queried.

"Oh, may I?" the girl eagerly asked.  She had often longed for a canoe
to paddle along the shore and explore the various creeks.

"Ah-ha-ha.  White woman paddle all sam' Injun bimeby.  Me go now."

The Colonel pressed the Indian to stay until the storm was over, but
the native shook his head, and with another glance at the sleeping
child, he passed out into the night.

For about an hour the storm continued to rage.  But the gleaming
lightning and the crashing thunder worried Old Mammy no longer.  She
was completely engrossed in the little charge which had been so
unexpectedly committed to her care.

"I mus' take special care ob dis chile," she' said.  "Mebbe it's one of
de Lo'd's angels, fo' wif Him it doan make no diff'rance what is de
colah of de skin.  Dey's all His chillun, an' He lubs dem all alike.
Doan yo' nebber fo'git dat, Missie Jean.  Dis may be one of de Lo'd's
angels undewares."




CHAPTER VIII

BENEATH THE SPREADING MAPLE

The little community of Loyal had most things in common, as is
generally the custom in pioneer settlements.  All took to their hearts
the little Indian child, and felt somewhat responsible for its welfare.
It seemed to them an omen of good will, and they believed that so long
as it was with them they would not be disturbed by the Indians.  Old
Mammy was very strong on this point, and was the one who first
suggested the idea.

"If a cat comes to yo' it's a sign of good luck," she declared.  "Now,
we didn't send fo' dis chile; it jes came to us, so why shouldn't it
bring us better luck den a cat?"

The colored woman considered the baby her special property, and only on
rare occasions would she allow anyone else to look after it.  Jean was
delighted to have it in the house, and both she and her father became
very fond of the little one.  They called it "Babby," not knowing its
Indian name, and were greatly pleased at its cunning ways.

The days and weeks sped rapidly by, and August was close edging into
September before Jean realised that summer was almost gone.  It had
been a busy time at the settlement, and the bright beautiful days
glided uneventfully by.  Once again the _Polly_ had come up river with
a load of provisions, and all had listened eagerly to the latest scraps
of news brought by Captain Leavitt.  They learned from him that another
fleet with a band of Loyalists was coming in the fall.  He expected to
take many of the newcomers on his boat up river, and promised to call
on his way back.  This important piece of information, as well as other
bits of news, was discussed for days at Loyal.  They longed for some
word from their old homes, and the friends they had left behind.  If
they could but see the Loyalists when they arrived in the fall they
might hear much.  Anyway, Captain Leavitt had promised to call, and no
doubt he would have a fund of information.

Every fine Sunday was a great day for Jean.  During the morning the
Colonel gathered the people of the settlement about him, and read the
service from the Prayer Book.  The responses and the singing of a few
old familiar hymns were very hearty, and the Doxology and the National
Anthem were invariably sung at the close.  It was but natural that the
eyes of the older ones should become misty during this service, for it
brought back memories of other days before the war.

After dinner the Colonel and Jean always went for a walk, either
through the woods or along the shore to the large point which ran far
out into the river.  Here at this latter place they would sit under the
great oak trees and talk to their hearts' content.

Their chief resort, however, was the brook which babbled down among the
hills, and flowed into the river between the settlement and the point.
About a mile back the brook was broken by a mass of huge rocks over
which the water poured in torrents during the spring and after every
heavy rain.  But in the summer the rocks were bare, and only one great
wreath of water slipped through a narrow crevice, and fell with a roar
and a splash to the level below.  Nearby father and daughter liked to
sit in the shade of the trees and listen to the music of the falling
water.

Jean always remembered the last time they were thus together.  It was
the final Sunday in August, and a most perfect afternoon.  The Colonel
had worked hard during the week and was very tired.  He was strangely
silent and depressed as he sat leaning against a rock, gazing off into
space.  It was so unlike his usual buoyant, cheery manner that Jean was
quite anxious.

"Is anything the matter, daddy?" she at length asked.  "Are you feeling
sick?"

The Colonel started, and a slight forced laugh escaped his lips.

"No, no, not at all," he replied.  "Do I look sick?"

"Then you must be worrying about something, daddy," and the girl's
right hand stole sympathetically into his as she spoke.

"Not worrying, dear; only somewhat lost in thought.  I have strange
fancies this afternoon, suggested by those rocks which break the
brook's steady course.  There have been three such breaks in my life,
and of them I have been thinking."

"I believe I know of two, daddy," Jean replied, as her father paused.
"One was dear mother's death, and another the terrible war.  But I do
not remember the third."

"I told you once, dear, though you have forgotten, which is only
natural.  It was the loss of a very dear friend, Thomas Norman."

"Oh, yes, I remember now, daddy.  He was the man who suddenly
disappeared, and has never been heard from since."

"The very same, Jean.  Next to your mother he was the best friend I had
on earth.  We had been boys together, and were inseparable.  He was
well educated, and held an important position in the King's service.
When he lost it, as he believed through intrigue and treachery, his
whole life was embittered.  He became a changed man, and he brooded
over it so much that I really believe it affected his mind.  Anyway, he
suddenly left with his wife and family, and I have never heard from him
since.  That was a long time ago when you were a mere child.  But I can
never forget him, and the happy years we spent together.  What a joy it
would be to have him here with me now as in the days of old.  But that
cannot be.  As that brook flows on, notwithstanding the break in its
course, so must my life.  However, I have much to be thankful for.  I
have you, dear, and you are a great comfort.  If anything should happen
to you, I do not believe I could endure life any longer."

"Don't you worry about losing me, daddy," the girl assured.  "I am
going to stick right close to you, no matter what happens.  But I think
you had better leave this place which gives you such gloomy thoughts.
This is too nice a day to feel unhappy."

"You are right, dear, and I suppose we had better go home.  But I like
to watch those great trees over yonder.  How strong and self-reliant
they are.  How proudly they lift their heads.  What storms have swept
over them, and yet they stand as erect as ever.  They do not complain,
but accept everything, whether sunshine or darkness, winter or summer,
as a matter of course.  They are friendly, too, and their big branches
seem to reach out like welcoming hands.  There is always something
inspiring to me about a great forest."

Often during the following days Jean's mind reverted to what her father
had said to her at the falls.  Although his old cheerful spirit
returned, yet she observed him at times during the evenings, which were
now lengthening, wrapped in thought, unheeding what was taking place
around him.  This worried her a great deal, and a new sense of
responsibility began to shape itself in her mind.  She believed that he
missed his old home in Connecticut more than he would acknowledge, and
that he was wearying of the monotonous life in the wilderness.  Perhaps
he needed a change, and she wondered how this could be brought about.

She was thinking seriously of this at the close of a bright day as she
pointed the bark canoe up the creek lying to the northwest of the
settlement.  She had become quite expert in handling the frail craft,
although, at her father's bidding, she always paddled in shallow water.
It was a beautiful afternoon, and the mighty forest crowning the
undulating hills was radiant with the beams of the streaming sun.
Slowly she moved up a narrow winding channel, the trees of the
shoreward side spreading out their great branches in a leafy canopy,
while on the other, acres of rushes and lily-pads lined the way.  It
was a fairy-like scene through which she moved, and but for the serious
thoughts which were agitating her mind, her soul would have been
thrilled at the magnificent vista spreading out before her.

Reaching at length the mouth of the brook, where the shallowness of the
water made further progress impossible, she ran the bow of the canoe
gently upon the shore under the shade of a big maple tree.  Here she
rested and viewed with interest the antics of two red squirrels as they
frisked about and scolded most furiously at the intrusion of the
stranger in their domain.  So funny did they appear that Jean was
compelled to laugh outright.  She always enjoyed watching the tiny
creatures of the wild, especially the squirrels.  She could get closer
to these saucy and daring rascals of the nimble feet than their shyer
comrades of the forest.

Presently in the midst of their antics the squirrels suddenly started,
ceased their scolding, and scurried rapidly away.  That something had
frightened them Jean was certain, and she grew nervous.  She was about
to back the canoe from the shore and leave the place, when the tall
form of a man unexpectedly emerged from the forest and stood before
her.  So great was her own fright that for a few seconds she was
completely unnerved, although she uttered no sound.  Her face became
very white, and her heart beat wildly.  Then recognising the intruder
as Dane Norwood, she gave a slight hysterical laugh, and her tense body
relaxed.

"Oh, my, how you frightened me!" she gasped.  "I didn't know you at
first."

"Forgive me," the young man apologised, as he stepped to the side of
the canoe.  "I came upon you sooner than I expected."

"Did you know I was here?" Jean asked.

"Yes.  I happened to see you as I crossed the brook farther up."

"Where were you going?"

"To see you, of course.  It has taken me three months to get here, and
when I do arrive I frighten you almost out of your senses."

Jean smiled as she picked up the paddle.  She had to be doing
something, for she felt the hot glow stealing into her cheeks beneath
Dane's ardent gaze.  She was greatly struck by the remarkable change in
his appearance.  The travel-stained buckskin suit he had worn when
first she met him had been replaced by a new one, neat and clean.  It
fitted him perfectly, making him appear taller and nobler than ever.

"Have you been really travelling three months to get here?" Jean asked.
"You do not look like it."  She glanced at his clothes, and this Dane
noted.

"I have not been travelling all that time to get here," he explained.
"I did not mean that.  But Davidson has kept me so busy the last three
months that I could not get away, although I tried several times."

"And you were not here before?" Jean asked in surprise.  "Why, I
thought it was you who gave us those presents, and stuck that arrow
into the tree."

"Oh, Pete did that.  He was keeping an eye over you."

"Who is Pete?"

"My Indian; the one who generally travels with me.  You surely must
have met him."

"No, I never did."

"But this is his canoe!  How did you get it, then?  It must be a sign
of special favour, for I never knew him to let any one have his
favourite canoe before."

"A big Indian left it with me the night of the great storm when he
brought his little child to our place.  It is there now."

"That must have been Pete!" Dane exclaimed in astonishment.  "I have
not seen him for several weeks, and did not know what had happened to
him.  It is very seldom that he leaves me for such a length of time.  I
am puzzled, though, about the child."

"He said that its mother is dead, and he wanted us to look after it for
one moon, and maybe two.  I hope he will leave it with us a long time,
for we are very fond of it."

"Ah, now I understand," and Dane's eyes wandered thoughtfully out upon
the river.  "Poor Pete, he must be making up for lost time.  It is just
like him.  He is a great Indian."

Noticing the expression of interest and curiosity in the girl's eyes,
Dane smiled.

"Yes," he continued, "Pete always makes up for lost time.  Five years
ago his first wife died, and he was away for over two months.  It was
during the war when efforts were being made to keep the Indians true to
King George.  It was a hard struggle, and James White, the deputy agent
of Indian affairs, was often at his wits' end.  But at last a treaty
was signed at Fort Howe, when the Indians and the English all became
'one brother,' as the natives say.  I found out afterwards that Pete
had a great deal to do with the signing of that treaty.  He travelled
from camp to camp, meeting the Indians, and urging them to be loyal to
King George.  He made up for lost time then, and I believe he is doing
so now.  No doubt we shall hear from him soon."

"Do you think the Indians are becoming troublesome again?" Jean
somewhat anxiously asked.

"Not altogether this time.  Our danger now is from the slashers, as
they will do their best to stir up the Indians.  But Pete will be on
the lookout.  He nipped a little game of theirs in the bud over a year
ago."

"How?"  Jean was becoming keenly interested.

"Oh, he brought us news of a raid the slashers were about to make upon
the King's mast-cutters, so we were able to check them.  Twenty of us
marched all day and night through the woods and fell upon the rebels
before they were awake.  There was a lively tussle, but we cleaned them
out, although they were double our number.  Pete had been absent for
two weeks before that, but his timely news put him back again in
Davidson's good books."

"I hope there will be no more trouble," and Jean gave a deep sigh.
"Everything has been so quiet this summer that I can hardly imagine
that there are mischief-makers around.  Perhaps those guns which Major
Studholme sent up river have been a warning to the slashers.  But my,
how late it is getting!  Daddy will be anxious about me.  You will come
and have tea with us, will you not?"

The young courier needed no second bidding, so in a few minutes the
canoe was speeding riverward, with Dane paddling and Jean facing him.
Peace surrounded them as they moved onward, but a deeper peace than
that which brooded over river and land dwelt in their happy young
hearts.




CHAPTER IX

LOVE'S-CHARM

Through the great network of branches of maples, birches, and other
trees the light of a new day sifted down upon a little lake about a
mile back from the settlement.  Dane Norwood woke from a sound sleep
and looked out over the water.  He was in no hurry to rise, as he felt
very comfortable lying there on his bed of fir boughs wrapped in his
warm blanket.  About half way up the lake several wild ducks were
feeding among the weeds and rushes, unconscious of any danger.  To
these Dane paid little attention.  He was waiting for larger game, and
his eyes and ears were keenly alert to the one sound and sight which
would electrify him into immediate action.

His mind naturally turned to the previous evening when he had sat with
the Colonel and his daughter before the big fire-place.  The vision of
the girl's face, lighted by the dancing flames, stood out before him
clear and distinct.  How her eyes had shone as, urged by the Colonel,
he related story after story of adventures in the heart of the untamed
forest among Indians, slashers, and wild beasts.  The time had passed
all too quickly, and when he at length rose to leave, the Colonel
offered him the use of his tent near the cabin.  But Dane had
reluctantly declined.  He had his own camping-outfit on the shore of
the lake, where he had left gun, blanket, and a small supply of food
that afternoon.  He did not mind the walk through the forest, dark
though it was.  He was more at home in the woodland ways than on city
streets.  His was the instinct of the wild, and he travelled more by
intuition than by sight.

There was another reason why he wished to camp by the lake.  He
correctly surmised that the food supply at the settlement was getting
low.  The men were not hunters, and although supplied with guns, they
had made little use of them in obtaining game from the surrounding
hills, considering them chiefly as weapons of defence in case of
attack.  With Dane, however, it was different.  To him the forests and
streams were Nature's great larder, filled with all manner of good
things.

As he lay there thinking of the girl at the settlement, the morning
light strengthened, and the trees along the eastern shore threw out
long uneven shadows upon the water.  Not a ripple ruffled the
mirror-like surface, except those caused by the feeding ducks.  Dane's
special attention was directed to a spot on the western shore which he
had carefully examined the day before.  From the newly-made foot-prints
he knew that this was a favourite resort of moose, deer, and caribou
where they came to drink and to wallow in the mud.  And in this he was
not mistaken, for as he patiently waited, the great antlered-head of a
bull moose suddenly emerged from the forest.  The lordly animal paused
for a few seconds and looked around.  Dane was fully alert now.  With
his gun resting across a fallen log, he trained his eye along the
smooth dark barrel.  Then as the moose stepped forward and its right
side was presented to view, he pulled the trigger.  The loud report
resounded through the silent forest reaches, and sent the ducks
scurrying wildly out of the water.  With a snort of pain and surprise
the moose threw back its great head, lifted its fore feet from the
ground, reeled for an instant, and crashed over on its side, a huge
bulk of quivering, lifeless flesh.

Half an hour later Dane was speeding toward the settlement, carrying a
choice piece of meat suspended from a stout stick across his right
shoulder.  He surprised Mammy in the act of preparing the fire for
breakfast as he approached with noiseless steps, and held the meat
before her.

"Oh, Lo'd, how yo' did scare me!" she exclaimed, straightening herself
up, and looking at the young man.  "I'se as weak as a chicken, an' my
bref's almos' gone.  I was sure yo' was an Injun or a tager jumpin' at
me."

Dane smiled as he laid the meat upon a log, and drew forth his sharp
sheath knife.

"I am sorry I frightened you," he apologised.  "But a piece of this
will give you new strength.  You get the frying-pan ready while I carve
a few slices.  I am going to help you get breakfast this morning.  We
will give the Colonel and Miss Sterling a great surprise."

And surprised father and daughter certainly were when at length they
came out of the house and saw the nicely-browned slices of steak lying
in the frying-pan.

"So this is what you have been up to, young man," the Colonel smilingly
remarked.  "I understand now why you refused to remain here last night.
Is this moose or deer steak?"

"Moose, and there is plenty more where this came from.  I am astounded
that you have not been feasting upon game before this, as the forest is
full of birds and animals."

"I am afraid that we are poor hunters," the Colonel replied.  "I, at
any rate, know very little about woodland ways."

"Then I shall teach you," Dane declared.  "But first of all, I want you
to try this steak.  Then we must get the men to go with me to bring in
that moose.  It will not do to leave it long out there.  If we do, the
bears and other animals will soon finish it."

Jean said very little during breakfast, leaving her father and Dane to
do most of the talking.  But her heart was happy and light.  To her
this visitor was more than an ordinary man.  She was of an
impressionable nature, and naturally surrounded Dane Norwood with the
glamour of romance.  His buoyant, free-from-care manner, and the roving
life he led thrilled and enthralled her very soul.  To her he was the
living embodiment of valiant knights and princes who figured in tales
she had heard and read, especially those of the Arthurian Legends.
Malory's "Morte d'Arthur," notwithstanding its quaint language and
quainter pictures, had so enkindled her mind that she herself at times
had seemed the heroine in many a stirring scene.  It was largely due to
these impressions that she relished the life in the wilderness, and
looked upon the King's courier as a hero of more than ordinary mettle.

Breakfast over, the Colonel summoned the men of the settlement, and,
guided by Dane, they went at once to the lake after the moose.  Jean
obtained her father's permission to accompany them, and she thoroughly
enjoyed the trip.  The men were like a crowd of boys just out of
school, and the forest resounded with laughter and animated talk.  The
prospect of an abundance of game during the fall and winter elevated
their spirits, and made them forget the days and weeks when food had
been scarce.  To them Dane was a Godsend, and they took him to their
hearts and made him as one of themselves.  That he and the Colonel's
daughter were in love with each other they were not slow in learning.
But there was no rude chaffing as the two walked a little apart from
the rest.  They were men noble enough to respect the sacredness of a
first great love.

There was much rejoicing among the women and children when the men
returned to the settlement with the moose.  It had been skinned and
carefully divided.  Some carried their portions, while others bore
theirs suspended on poles from shoulder to shoulder.  Thus for the
first time since leaving their old homes did the exiles have a
sufficient supply of meat.

A new life now pervaded the settlement.  During the following days and
weeks the men roamed the forest-clad hills and valleys in search of
game.  Directed by Dane, they soon became quite skilful hunters,
especially the Colonel, who was never happier than when out in the
woods.  Then around the big camp-fire at night, the men would relate
their thrilling and humorous experiences during the day.

This was a pleasant time for Dane.  He had shifted his camping-place
from the lake to the shore of the creek, and here he had built for
himself a small abode, covering the roof and sides with wide strips of
birch bark to keep out the rain.  He was very skilful at such work, and
a happy afternoon it was for him when he first showed Jean his finished
cabin.  They had come by water, and the bow of the canoe was resting
upon the shore.  It was here that they had met three weeks before, and
under the big maple Dane had erected his little building.  The tree had
put on its scarlet bunting, and touched by the bright September sun,
glowed its welcome to the young lovers.

Jean examined the cabin most carefully, and her admiration was
unbounded.

"I think it is splendid!" she enthusiastically exclaimed.  "You never
told me anything about it."

"I wanted to surprise you," Dane explained.  "I have been so busy with
other things that I have had little time to work here, so only finished
it a few days ago."

"And will you live here all the time?" Jean eagerly asked.

The young man smiled as he looked fondly upon the girl's animated face
and sparkling eyes.  Then he shook his head.

"I wish I could live here, Jean.  But I have a dozen such cabins in
various places, and I must spend some time in them during the coming
winter.  They are my stopping-places, you see, when I am carrying
messages for Davidson.  No doubt he is very angry now at my long
absence, so I shall have to go away in a day or two."

"But you will come back soon, will you not?"

"Do you really want me to come back soon?" Dane asked.

"W-why certainly," the girl stammered, while her face suddenly flushed.
"I hope you will use this cabin often."

"I will make it larger and stay here all the time, if you want me to."

"Oh, will you?  How nice that would be."

"But only if you will stay with me."

"Oh!"  It was all that Jean could say, for his meaning was now quite
clear.  Her eyes dropped, and her body slightly trembled.

Impulsively Dane reached out and took both of her hands in his.

"You know what I mean, Jean," he said.  "Surely you know how I love
you."

Receiving no reply, he drew her quickly to him, and kissed her upon the
lips.  Startled and embarrassed, she made a faint effort to free
herself, but strong arms held her firm.

"Don't!  Don't!" she gasped, while the rich blood crimsoned her face.
"You have no right to do this."

"I have the right of love," Dane contended, as he again kissed her.  "I
love you, and I know that you love me."

Jean made no further protest.  Notwithstanding her confusion, she was
supremely happy.  Although often wooed, she had never before submitted
to a lover's kiss, nor allowed his arms to encircle her.  But now it
was different.  She loved this man as she once thought it impossible to
love any one, and she knew that he loved her.  His strength and
masterfulness appealed to her, and made her a willing victim.  She
could not deny it, neither did she wish to do so.  She was content to
give herself up wholly and unreservedly to her conquering hero.

And as the two stood silently there, the lordly maple seemed to reach
out its great branches over their young united heads and beam its happy
benediction.  The ubiquitous squirrels appeared to know that something
unusual was taking place.  They cocked their shrewd little heads in a
listening attitude, stared impudently, and then sent the news abroad to
their feathered and furry comrades of the forest.  Of all this,
however, the lovers were unconscious, so lost were they in their
new-found joy.

"I never realised that you cared so much for me," Jean at length
whispered.  "When did you begin to love me?"

"From the first time I saw you by that shack at Portland Point," Dane
replied.  "I was so absent-minded when I went back to the lake that
Pete did not know what to make of me.  I returned later and saw you at
one of the camps telling stories to several children.  You know what
happened after that."

"Indeed I do," the girl declared.  "I can never forget that night, nor
how you saved me from Seth Lupin."

"Have you heard from the villain since?"

"Not since coming here.  But so long as he is in this country I cannot
feel safe.  I sometimes imagine he is prowling around here and will
appear at any minute."

"Umph, it won't be well for him if he does when I am here," and Dane's
hands clenched hard.  "He won't get off as easily as he did that last
time.  I thought he might follow you when you first arrived at this
place, so ordered Pete to be on the lookout.  I hoped that you would
understand the meaning of that arrow in the big pine."

"I was certain that you had much to do with that," Jean replied.  "For
a while I thought that you were near, and wondered why you did not come
to see me.  But now I know that you were thinking of my welfare, and
longing to come."

"I was always thinking about you, Jean, and I have something here to
show how much you were in my mind."

Thrusting his right hand into the breast-pocket of his jacket, he
brought forth a little piece of wood.  Removing a plug from one end, he
drew out a silver arrow-pin.

"This is a proof how much I was thinking of you.  You little know how
eagerly I looked forward to the time when I would have the right to
present it to you."

"And did you really make this?" Jean asked, taking the arrow in her
hand and examining it most carefully.  "I think it is wonderful."

"Yes, I made it myself," Dane replied, delighted at the girl's interest
and pleasure.  "I worked it out of a silver coin my mother gave me
years ago, and which I valued most highly.  For no one else would I
have done such a thing."

Dane's voice was a little husky as he spoke, and this Jean noticed.

"Your mother is dead, then?" she queried.  She had often longed to ask
him about her, but owing to his reticence about his past life, she had
not done so.  She had thought it strange, nevertheless, that he had
never mentioned his parents.

"My mother died five years ago," Dane explained.  "Whatever I am I owe
to her.  She was a noble woman."

"Is your father dead, too?  Have you no home?"

"I have had no real home since my mother died," was the evasive reply.
"My home is wherever night overtakes me.  I cannot tell you any more
now, so please do not ask me.  I know you will trust me."

He paused abruptly, impulsively took the arrow from the girl's hand,
and placed it in her dress at her throat.  He then stepped back to view
the effect.

"It becomes you well, Jean, and you must always wear it there.  It is
Love's-Charm, and it may mean more to you than you now imagine."

"I shall always wear it," was the low response, "not only as
Love's-Charm but as a remembrance of this happy day."




CHAPTER X

WHILE THE WATER FLOWS

The Colonel was not altogether surprised when that evening Jean told
him the important news.  He had not been blind and deaf to all that had
been taking place around him since Dane's arrival.  He was fond of the
courier, and believed him to be a noble young man, worthy of his
daughter's love.  He wanted Jean to be happy, for in her happiness his
own was vitally involved.  Yet it was only natural that the news of the
betrothal should bring a pang to his heart.  Jean was his all, his
comfort, his joy.  But now she shared her love with another, a young
man, of whose past history he knew very little, and nothing of the
family from which he had sprung.

He showed no trace of this feeling, however, as he sat before the fire.
Jean was standing by his side, the bright, flickering flames
illuminating her happy face.  Suddenly she realised something of what
this revelation meant to him who was so dear to her.  She had never
thought of it before, and it swept upon her now with a startling
intensity.  What would her father do without her?  She was all that he
had, and should she leave him, what would become of him?  She recalled
his words uttered at the falls.  "If anything happens to you," he had
said, "I do not believe I could endure life any longer."  She had
smiled at him then, but she did not do so now.  Stooping, she
impulsively threw her arms around her father's neck, and kissed him.

"You are not going to lose me, daddy," she said.  "You will always have
me with you.  And you will have another to help you," she added in a
lower voice.

"I know it, dear, I know it," was the somewhat faltering reply.  "I
want you to be happy, Jean, and I believe the young man is worthy of
your love."

"'Deed he is," Old Mammy declared, as just then she waddled toward the
fire.  Early that evening Jean had whispered the news into her ear, and
had received the old nurse's blessing, accompanied by a great motherly
hug.  "Mistah Dane is a puffect gen'l'man," she continued.  "He's not
one bit stuck up, an' he's got manners, too.  Why, he touches his cap
to dis ol' woman, an' if dat ain't a sign of a gen'leman, den I'd like
to know what is.  I ain't afraid to trust Missie Jean wif a man like
dat."

"But suppose he should take Jean away?" the Colonel queried.

"Doan yo' worry 'bout dat, Cun'l.  Missie Jean'll nebber leave us.  But
if she should, dis ol' woman'll go wif her."

"You are right, Mammy," Jean replied.  "I shall not leave you and
daddy.  We must always remain together."

For some time father and daughter sat before the fire and talked after
Old Mammy had gone to bed.  To Jean the future looked bright and rosy.
The Colonel, on the other hand, viewed it with considerable
apprehension.  In a land as yet a great wilderness, he could not help
seeing mountains of difficulties rising sternly before them.  He knew
how many hardships must beset their path for years to come.  At present
they were living in a most precarious manner, exiles, with the
pioneering work all ahead.  But with Jean it was different.  To her the
trail of life looked very pleasant, gleaming golden beneath the mystic
halo of romance.

The Colonel spent the next day with Dane in the hills.  He wished to be
alone with the courier who had won his daughter's heart.  There were
many things he desired to say to him, and he hoped to learn a little,
at least, about his past life.  He had something on his mind this day
of far greater importance to him than moose, deer, or caribou.

The morning passed most pleasantly, and the Colonel was more satisfied
than ever with his companion.  Dane was well versed in forest lore, and
the ways of the feathered and furry creatures of the trails were to him
an open book.  Gradually and tactfully the Colonel led him to talk
about his life, but on this subject he became more reserved.  He spoke
enthusiastically about his mother, and how much he owed to her.  His
father, however, he never mentioned.  The Colonel was far from
satisfied, as he had learned really nothing about Dane's history, nor
how his parents happened to be in this country.

They stopped to eat their dinner by a sparkling spring which bubbled
from a wooded hillside.  They were hungry, and thoroughly enjoyed the
good things Mammy had provided.

"I suppose this is a common occurrence to you," the Colonel remarked
when he had finished his meal.

"It has been my life for years," was the quiet reply.  "I hardly know
how to eat at a table."

"Have you no home?" the Colonel asked.  "Is your father not living?"

"Yes, I believe he is living, but I have not seen him for years."

"And why not?"

To this question Dane made no reply.  He sat very still, looking down
through the trees into the valley below.  The Colonel at first became
impatient, then angry.

"Look here, young man," he began, "if you are to have my daughter, I
must know something more about who you are, and where you have come
from.  Why do you not wish to tell me about your father?"

Had any one else spoken in such a peremptory manner he would soon have
learned his mistake.  As it was, Dane found it difficult to control
himself.

"I cannot tell you now," he quietly replied.  "I must explain nothing,
so please do not press me further."

The Colonel was now thoroughly aroused.  His fighting blood was
stirred, and he turned angrily upon his companion.

"Are you ashamed of your father?" he roared.  "Who is he? and what has
he done that you won't tell me about him?  Surely------"  He paused
abruptly, while a look of consternation leaped into his eyes.  He
reached out and clutched Dane by the arm.  "Tell me," he demanded, in a
voice that was but a hoarse whisper, "is your father an Indian?  Speak,
quick.  I must know the truth."

With a gesture of impatience, Dane threw aside the clutching hand, and
sprang to his feet, his eyes ablaze with anger.

"No, my father is not an Indian," he cried.

He was on the point of saying more, but restraining himself, he picked
up his gun and slipped swiftly away among the trees.  Down into the
valley he moved, hardly caring where he went.  For the second time in
his life he was afraid of himself; for the second time he fled from an
angry grey-haired man, not through fear of what might happen to
himself, but what he might do.  His soul was stirred within him, and
the blood surged madly through his veins.  But now, as on that other
occasion, he was saved by a mighty influence from being one with the
beasts of the forest, and that influence was the prevailing power of
love.

At length he stopped on the edge of a wild meadow, and threw himself
down upon a bed of moss under a fir tree.  He remembered how he had
done the same five years before when he had fled from the face of the
man from whose loins he had sprung.  It was love then which had
restrained him and held his hand, the love he bore to a woman whose
memory was enshrined in his heart, and that woman was his mother.  So
now his love for the fairest maiden at Loyal kept him from laying
violent hands upon her father, the man who had insulted him.

And as he lay there his calmness gradually returned, until he once
again felt master of himself.  He could not remain longer at the
settlement with the Colonel's anger hot against him.  Something would
be sure to happen which might separate him forever from the girl of his
heart's choice.  He must go away and lose himself for a time in the
heart of the forest.  But before going, he must see Jean once more, see
her unknown to her father, and ask her to wait and be patient.  The
thought of going to the Colonel for a reconciliation never once entered
his mind; such a thing was most foreign to his independent nature.

Time passed unheeded as he remained there lost in thought.  At length
he was startled by the report of a gun, followed almost immediately by
a ringing cry of fear.  Leaping to his feet, he dashed into the open,
and looked intently up across the wild meadow.  Nothing unusual was to
be seen, but a great crashing could be plainly heard among the bushes.
To Dane that sound was similar to a discordant note to a trained
musician's sensitive ear.  He had often heard it before, and knew its
meaning.  It always meant danger, and never more so than now.

Bounding forward in the direction of the sound, in a few seconds his
eyes fell upon the cause of the disturbance.  A great bull moose was
charging, and the object of his rage was the Colonel, frantically
striving to free himself from a tangle of fallen tree-tops into which
he had plunged.  That the man had fled a short distance after wounding
the moose was quite evident.  But to escape now by flight from that
infuriated animal was utterly impossible.  This the Colonel realised,
so his only hope lay in seeking refuge amidst the tops of the fallen
trees.  This position, however, was most precarious, for the branches
were half rotten and brittle, absolutely unable to withstand the
terrific goring impact of those wide-spread antlers, impelled by
insensate rage and over one thousand pounds of flesh, bone, and sinewy
muscles.

In an instant Dane comprehended the seriousness of the situation.  He
knew that there was no time to lose, so bringing his musket to his
shoulder, he took a quick, careful aim and fired.  The great antlered
demon was but a few feet from the tree-tops when the bullet tore into
its side just back of the shoulder.  It charged and crashed into the
branches, but where it charged it fell, and after a brief convulsive
struggle remained still.  The fighting days of the monarch of the
trails were ended.

Hastening at once to the spot, Dane found the Colonel pinned down
amidst a tangle of branches and antlers, and unable to help himself.
With considerable difficulty the courier at last assisted him to his
feet.  Apart from several bruises upon the body, the only injury was in
the left arm, on which one of the prongs had struck a glancing blow.
An instant later this same arm had been caught under the huge body and
held as in a vise.  The Colonel was weak, and trembled as he
endeavoured to stand upright.  Blood oozed from several scratches on
his forehead and trickled down into his white beard.  But he maintained
a brave spirit, and smiled as Dane questioned him about his injuries.

"I shall be all right shortly," he said.  "There are no bones broken,
for which I am most thankful.  I am somewhat weak, that is all."

"Suppose we go down to the brook and let me bathe your face," Dane
suggested.  "It is not far, and you can lean on me."

Supported by the courier, the Colonel slowly made his way along the
border of the meadow to the little brook which flowed sluggishly
through a mass of wild grass and alders.  Here Dane brought forth a
piece of soft cloth from one of his pockets, with which he washed away
the blood stains from the Colonel's forehead and beard.  Then from a
small wooden tube he produced some salve-like ointment which he applied
to the wounds, thus giving immediate relief.

"I see you are well prepared for emergencies," the Colonel remarked,
both interested and pleased at the young man's skill and attention.

"Experience has taught me to be always ready," Dane replied.  "One
never knows what is going to happen in the woods, so a few bandages are
very handy.  That ointment, too, is useful.  It is a simple Indian
remedy, but very effective."

The Colonel made no further comment, but lay upon the ground lost in
thought.  There was a far-away look in his eyes, which caused Dane to
wonder what he was thinking about.  At length he aroused and turned
toward his companion.

"Young man," he began, "I am greatly indebted  to you for saving my
life to-day.  But for your prompt action that moose would have crushed
me to death in a short time.  I now ask your forgiveness for my
impatience and anger toward you to-day."

He held out his hand, but to his surprise Dane stepped quickly to the
other side of the narrow brook.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Colonel asked.  "Shall we not be
friends?"

In reply Dane smiled and stretched out his hand, which the Colonel
immediately grasped.

"This is the Indian custom," Dane explained.  "While the grass grows,
the sun shines, and the water flows, we will be friends."

"Amen," broke fervently from the Colonel's lips.

And there across that little stream youth and age clasped hands, and a
bond of friendship was formed which not even death itself could break.




CHAPTER XI

THE SUMMONS

There was a flutter of excitement at the settlement when the betrothal
of the Colonel's daughter and the King's courier became known.  The
young people, especially, were quite excited, and discussed it in the
most animated manner.  But it did not end in talk, for they decided to
celebrate the event that very evening.  In every home preparations were
soon under way, and the women vied with one another in the culinary
art.  Jean was to know nothing about what was taking place, hence a
careful watch was kept upon her movements.  Old Mammy was let into the
secret, and her face beamed with pleasure as the news was whispered
into her ear.

"And you must not tell, Mammy," was the warning.  "We want you to know
so that you can help us to keep the secret from Jean until the right
minute."

"Why, bress yo' life," the faithful servant replied, "dis ol' colored
woman won't say nuffin'.  She nebber knows nuffin', anyway, 'cept to
hol' her tongue at de right time, which is more'n mos' folks kin do.
An' doan yo' worry 'bout Missie Jean takin' any hint of what's goin'
on.  She's in lub, an' when a pusson's in lub, she's so near to heaben
dat she doan pay much heed to what's goin' on 'round her.  An' dat's de
way wif Missie Jean."

Of all this excitement and innocent deception Jean was totally unaware.
Part of the morning she played with the little Indian child along the
shore, and rambling in the woods a short distance from the house.  Much
of the afternoon she spent in the canoe upon the water.  She visited
again the place up the creek under the big maple, and recalled the
happy day when she and Dane had been last there, and the words of love
which had been breathed into her ears.  Taking the arrow-pin in her
hand, she looked at it for some time.  The words "Love's-Charm," kept
running through her mind, and she wondered in what way that little
trinket would be a Love-Charm to her.  Suddenly and impulsively she
raised it to her lips.  Then she gave a quick, startled glance around,
fearful lest she had been observed.  She smiled at what she considered
her foolishness, replaced the pin, and pushed the canoe from the shore.

When she reached home she was surprised that her father and Dane had
not returned.  The days were much shorter now, so the shades of night
were stealing over the land as she entered the house.  She had noticed
a great heap of drift-wood piled upon the shore, but thought little
about it, as it was a common occurrence on these cool nights for the
young people to have a bonfire.  She found Mammy preparing supper, with
the child playing upon the floor nearby.  The fire-place was aglow, and
the flames, licking about several sticks of white maple, illuminated
the room.  It was a cheery, homelike scene, but Jean's first thoughts
were for the hunters.  She expressed her anxiety to Mammy, and asked
what could be keeping them so late.

"Doan yo' worry 'bout dem, chile," the old woman replied.  "Dey's well
able to take care of demselves.  Yo' might hab reason to be anxious if
yo' daddy was alone.  But he's got Mistah Dane wif him, an' dat young
man knows de woods better'n I used to know my cookin'-stove in Ol'
Connec.  No, yo' needn't worry one bit.  Dey'll turn up all right,
'specially when dey's good an' hungry; dat's jes like men."

But Jean did worry, especially when another hour passed and the men had
not returned.  Supper had been ready for some time, and even Mammy was
beginning to show her impatience.  She fussed with the baby, glanced
often toward the fire, where the dishes were being kept hot, and at
last lighted the dip-candles which she had placed upon the table.

"De Cun'l likes to hab de room bright," she remarked, "'specially when
he comes home.  He kin see yo' pretty face all de better, Missie Jean.
An' Mistah Dane'll need a good light when he comes in, an' he'll be
'sprised when he sees how yo' look.  I nebber saw yo' look better'n yo'
do jes now, wif yo' hair fixed up so nice, de lobely col'r in yo'
cheeks, an' wearin' dat beau'ful dress yo' brung from Ol' Connec."

Jean turned and smiled upon the woman.  She had been standing at the
open door for some time, watching and listening for the hunters.

"You must not flatter me, Mammy, or you will make me vain," she
replied.  "Oh, I wish they would come!  I am getting so anxious."

Scarcely had she finished speaking when the absent ones appeared
suddenly before her.  Seeing her father leaning heavily on Dane's arm,
she gave a slight cry of fear, and darted to his side.

"Daddy, daddy, what is the matter?" she asked.  "Are you hurt?"

"Let me get into the house, dear, and I shall tell you," the Colonel
replied.  "I feel very tired."

Seated before the fire, and later at the table, the story of the fight
with the moose was told.  The Colonel described the scene most vividly,
and gave the courier great credit.  He said nothing, however, about the
quarrel, neither did Dane refer to it.  That had passed with the
running water over which they had clasped hands of enduring friendship.
It was well, they were both aware, that none should know of it but
themselves.

Jean was greatly interested in this adventure, and she watched her
father with beaming eyes, forgetting at times her supper.  Dane thought
that he had never seen her look so beautiful.  He admired the dress she
was wearing, and he was pleased to see the Love-Charm at her throat.
He observed the flickering light dancing upon her soft, wavy hair, and
the varying expressions playing upon her face as she listened to her
father.  His heart was full of joy, and he realised more than ever
before how pleasant it was to return from the hills to the light and
warmth of a home where love dwelt.

They had finished their supper, and the Colonel was resting upon a
settle near the fire, when a knock sounded upon the door, and a number
of young people at once entered.  They were in the gayest of moods, and
surrounding Jean and Dane, they led them out of the house.  Down to the
shore they hurried, where the big bonfire was blazing merrily, and
great forked flames were leaping high into the air.

"What is the meaning of this, Mammy?" the Colonel asked, as soon as the
young people had left.  "What is going on to-night?"

"It's a dance 'bout de fire, Cun'l," the old woman explained.  "De
young folks hab been plannin' all dis bressed day to s'prize Missie
Jean an' Mistah Dane t'night.  Dey's been cookin' an' cookin', an'
whisperin' mysterious like, an' laffin' an' laffin' to split dere
sides."

"What about?"

"Why, doan yo' know, Cun'l?" and Mammy looked her surprise.  "Jes as
soon as de young folks heard de news 'bout Missie Jean an' Mistah Dane
dey made plans to cel'brate, so dat's what dey's doin' now.  An'
listen, Cun'l, to de music.  Simon's settin' on a log, playin' fo' all
he's worf, an' de young folks is a dancin'.  Yo' bett'r come an' see
fo' yo' set."

"I can see from where I am, Mammy, if you will move aside," was the
reply.  "I can't see very well through you."

With the woman's bulky body out of the way, the Colonel was enabled to
view all that was taking place near the shore.  The fire lighted up the
ground for a considerable distance, so he could see the young people
moving to and fro, and hear their chatter and happy laughter.  And in
their midst were Jean and Dane, the happiest of all.  Occasionally a
young man would throw some wood, or a great root upon the fire.  As the
flames leaped up anew, and masses of sparks were hurled in all
directions, shouts of merriment ascended, followed by shrieks of
laughter as the maidens fled from the falling, fiery shower.  The
Colonel smiled as he watched the merrymakers.  He liked to see them
happy.  Their sojourn in the wilderness had not dampened their spirits,
and he knew that such people were the right pioneers for a new land.

Jean and Dane thoroughly enjoyed themselves.  They were pleased at the
interest taken on their behalf, and entered heartily into the spirit of
the gathering.  As the evening wore on, and the dancing subsided, they
gathered in little groups around the fire, far enough away to escape
the intense heat.  And here upon the ground they sat while the good
things which had been cooked that day were passed around.  Then it was
that the older members of the settlement came to partake of the repast.
Several jugs containing West India spirits were produced, and all drank
to the health of the young couple they delighted to honour.  The use of
this beverage was almost universal, being dispensed as an ordinary act
of hospitality, and no festive occasion was considered complete without
the flowing cup.  Snuff-boxes were then brought forth, and their
contents liberally sampled, while those who smoked filled their piles
and lighted them with small burning embers.  Snuff, like Jamaica
spirits and New England rum, was in more general use than tobacco.
Various were the shapes and designs of the snuff-boxes, some being of
considerable value.  They were carried in the pockets, and two men
meeting would exchange whiffs as a matter of course.  True hospitality
was deemed lacking where the friendly box was not passed around.  It
was the custom, and custom makes all things proper.

While this genial spirit of contentment and good will prevailed around
the fire, a tall Indian stood within the shadow of the forest, and
watched the scene with much interest and curiosity.  At length he
stepped forth into the flame-lit circle, and walked deliberately over
to where Dane was seated.  His presence was at once noted, and a sudden
hush fell upon the gathering.

"Hello, Pete!" Dane exclaimed in surprise.  "Where have you come from,
and what do you want?"

The native replied in the deep guttural Indian tongue, and what he said
caused Dane to start, while an expression of anxiety overspread his
face.  He asked a question in the same language, with which he was
quite familiar, and when it had been answered, he turned to the
intensely interested group around him.

"I am sorry to have to leave you," he announced, "but I must go at
once, as I am needed up river."

"Is it anything serious?" Jean asked in a low voice.

"I am afraid so," Dane replied.  "I told you that Pete would suddenly
turn up with important news, and I was right.  The rebels are stirring
up trouble."

"But you must see daddy before you go," Jean said.  "He will be greatly
disappointed if you don't."

"Certainly I must see him.  Let us go at once, as there is no time to
lose."

Together they made their way to the house, leaving the people around
the fire gazing curiously after them.  As they entered, they saw the
Indian bending over the sleeping child, and watching it most intently.
Mammy was standing by on the defensive, fearful lest she was about to
lose her little charge.

"Doan let him take her, Mistah Dane," she cried.  "I can't spare Babby.
Drive him out ob de house."

Pete at once straightened himself up to his full height, and smiled as
he looked upon the agitated woman.

"Injun no tak' babby," he said.  "Injun no cabin.  Babby no mamma."

"Bress de Lo'd fo' His goodness!" Mammy fervently exclaimed, lifting on
high her hands, "and let all de earf gib t'anks unto His holy name fo'
ebber an' ebber."

The Colonel was greatly interested over Dane's departure, and asked him
several questions.

"I can tell you very little now," the young man replied.  "That the
rebels are up to some mischief is quite certain.  Pete has found out
where they are to meet to-morrow night, so we must be on hand to learn
their plans."

"Is it far from here?"

"Quite a distance.  We shall take the canoe, and make it in several
hours."

"Why not wait until daylight?"

"That would not do, as we need darkness for such work.  The rebels must
not know of our presence."

"Will there be any danger?" Jean enquired.

Dane smiled as he looked upon her sober face, and saw the anxious
expression in her eyes.

"Nothing to worry about," he replied.  "To some it might be a dangerous
undertaking, but Pete and I have been at it so long that it has become
almost second nature to us."

Jean said nothing more just then, but while her father and Dane talked,
she whispered something to Mammy.  At once the colored woman became
very busy, and when at last Dane bade the Colonel good-bye, a basket
filled with provisions was set before him.

"It's fo' yo' an' de Injun," Mammy explained.  "I hope de Good Lo'd'll
be wif yo', an' help yo' skedaddle dem rebels.  But yo' can't do
nuffin' wifout grub, Mistah Dane.  No matt'r if yo' is in lub, yo' mus'
eat to lib."

Dane smiled as he took the basket, and thanked the big-hearted woman.

"I shall not forget your kindness, Mammy," he told her.  "And neither
will Pete.  He has a great memory for such things.  Why, all the
Indians along the river know already what you have done for his little
child, and they will also hear of this."

The memory of that night never passed from Jean's mind.  She
accompanied Dane to the shore, and stood there for a few minutes after
the two couriers had left, She knew that Dane loved her with all the
strength of his manly nature, and she never felt this more than when he
had held her in his arms and kissed her ere stepping into the canoe.
She did not want him to go, and how unfortunate it was that the summons
should come to him in the midst of the merry-making, and when she was
so happy.  A spirit of depression suddenly swept upon her, which was
foreign to her nature.  She tried to banish it even after she returned
to the house.  But neither the cheerfulness of the fire, nor the
conversation with her father and Mammy could dispel the strange feeling
of some impending calamity.




CHAPTER XII

PLOTTERS IN COUNCIL

Leaving Jean standing upon the shore, Dane settled down to work and
headed the canoe for the main channel.  His time of idleness was now
over, and he knew that stern duty lay ahead.  Although it was hard for
him to go away from the girl he loved, yet the spirit of a new
adventure thrilled his soul.  It was a call, insistent, imperative, and
never had he disobeyed the voice.  To him danger was a tonic, and the
great wild with all its mystery and uncertainty was his playground.
His nature demanded activity, and the lure of something beyond was as
breath to his being.

The bark canoe seemed like a thing of life as it cut through the water
and the night, straight for the open.  It trembled as with excitement,
impelled by the strong arms wielding the paddles.  It was well seasoned
to such work.  It was Pete's favourite craft, and it knew all the
streams for leagues around.  It had poked its nose into every creek,
cove, and tributary of the St. John River from the Kennebacasis to the
Shogomoc.  It knew the windings of the Washademoak, and the rolling
billows of windy Grand Lake had tested its endurance.  It had battled
with running ice; it had been borne over innumerable portages; and it
had lain concealed in many secret places while enemies had sped by in
the darkness but a few yards away.  It bore the scars of ice, rocks,
and bullets, and its long, lean body had been patched and repatched.
But notwithstanding all these years of hardships, it was as eager now
as the hardy men who drove it forward to rush into new adventures.

Steadily Dane and Pete urged the springing craft onward.  Seldom did
they speak, and hardly a sound did they make as their paddles dipped
rhythmically into the cold water.  The sky was overcast, and not a star
was to be seen.  No lights gleamed along the shore.  They were
completely enwrapped by night and silence, securely enfolded in
Nature's great secret embrace.

Reaching at length the upper end of an island which divides the river,
they ran the canoe ashore, rested, and ate some of the food Jean and
Old Mammy had so thoughtfully prepared.  They talked in low voices, and
Pete explained the cause of his long absence, where he had been, and
how for some time he had been trailing the rebels until he had at last
discovered the place and night of meeting to arrange plans for united
action.

"How did you know where I was?" Dane asked.  "I didn't tell any one
where I was going."

"Me know, a'right.  Me know white woman.  Me know Dane."

"You were sure that I couldn't keep away from her?"

"A-ha-ha."

"But I never did such a thing before, Pete.  When did you ever know me
to run after a woman?"

"Dane find good white woman.  Dane mak' no mistake."

"I have made no mistake," was the emphatic reply.  "I am glad you like
her, Pete."

"White woman good; tak' care babby, all sam' mamma.  Bimeby Pete----"

He suddenly paused, and laid his right hand upon his companion's arm.
But Dane's ears were as keen as his own, and he, too, had heard the
sound of an approaching canoe.  It was coming down river, and in a few
minutes it was abreast of them.  Nothing could the two concealed men
see, but as the strange craft was sweeping by, a voice broke the
silence.

"Is everything ready?" was the question Dane heard asked.

"Yes, Seth's looking after the plans," came a reply.

Nothing more could Dane distinguish, although he strained his ears to
hear something further.  To him that canoe speeding through the night,
and the words he had overheard, had a sinister meaning.  That it was
Seth Lupin to whom reference had been made, there could be no doubt.
So the villain was still lurking around.  What were the plans he was
looking after?  Had they anything to do with Jean?  He believed they
had, and the thought caused him to give the canoe a savage thrust from
the shore, which sent it reeling back into midstream, He must get
through with this task, and then hurry as quickly as possible to the
girl he loved.  But who were the ones in the canoe?  From their words
he felt sure that they were white men.  In what way were they connected
with Seth Lupin, and whither were they bound?

He thought of all this as the canoe moved swiftly up the river, and he
racked his brains in an effort to solve the problem of the plans Seth
was looking after.  He questioned Pete closely, but the Indian had not
seen the villain nor heard anything about him.

In about an hour's time they came to a narrow channel which connected
the river with a lake-like body of water several miles in extent, and
known by the Indians as the "Wedneebak."  Here they ran the canoe
ashore, drew it out of the water and carried it up the bank and a short
distance into the forest.  Breaking off some fir boughs, they made for
themselves beds upon the ground.  Then taking off their jackets, they
placed them over their bodies, and, lulled by the wind among the
tree-tops, they were soon fast asleep.

Early dawn found them both awake, and watching with the keenest
interest the narrow entrance to the Wedneebak.  They ate sparingly of
the food from the basket, hoping to make it last throughout the day.
The morning was cold, but they did not dare to light a fire lest it
should betray their presence.  They took turns in watching the river
and in moving about, so in this manner they were able to keep fairly
warm.

During the morning Dane made a trip to a hill some distance inland,
where from the upper branches of a large tree he obtained an excellent
view of the upper stretch of the Wedneebak.  He wished to learn if any
of the rebels had already arrived for the council.  From this elevated
position his eyes scanned the shore, and soon detected several wreaths
of smoke curling up into the air.  How many men were there he could not
tell, as the crowding trees hid them from view.  He wondered if the
pow-wow had already begun, or were the men waiting for others to
arrive?  He longed to go down to the shore, creep up close, and spy
upon the rebels.  This, however, he knew would be foolish, as it would
be impossible in broad daylight to approach near enough to learn
anything of importance.  No, he must wait until night.

Pete was much pleased when Dane returned and told of the discovery he
had made.

"Good, good," he said.  "Plenty canoe come bimeby."

"But perhaps they are all there now," Dane suggested.

"No, more come bimeby.  See 'm soon."

And in this the Indian was right, for as the day wore away, and
darkness once more began to steal over the land, the canoes began to
arrive.  There were a dozen in all, and each contained a number of men,
some of whom were Indians.  They all came down river, entered the
narrow channel, and sped up the Wedneebak.

As the last canoe disappeared around a bend, Dane and Pete slipped away
from their place of watching.  They moved rapidly through the forest,
and hardly a sound did they make as they advanced.  Their ears and eyes
were keenly alert, for they were well aware that the critical time had
now arrived, and that much depended upon their caution.

The darkness had now deepened, and no trail guided their steps.  But to
them this mattered little.  The forest was their home, and their course
was as unerring as birds in their flight or beasts in search of prey.
A life-long training to one, and years to the other had developed the
sense of instinct which always served when sight and hearing were of
little or no avail.

And this stood them in good stead now, for when others would have
detected nothing, they suddenly stopped dead in their tracks, dropped
upon their hands and knees, and crept cautiously forward.  Never did
panthers move more warily than did those two human sleuth-hounds
approach the unsuspecting men gathered from various places for the
important council.  From creeping they dropped into crawling, with
their bodies close to the ground.  In this manner they ere long came
near the water, and not far from where the rebels were assembled.
Here, concealed by night and a thick clump of small fir bushes, they
were able to watch all that was taking place, and to hear every word
uttered.

Ever since Pete had brought him word of this council a great fear had
been tugging at Dane's heart.  He said nothing, however, about it to
his companion, but as he rapidly and anxiously scanned the faces of the
men gathered about the big main fire, he breathed a sigh of relief.
The one he feared might be present was not there.  A weight was now
lifted from his mind, so he felt in a better mood to spy upon the band
before him.

He knew them all, Indians, English-speaking renegades from New England,
and half-breeds.  It was a motley gathering, and as he listened to the
drifting conversation before the actual pow-wow began, he realised how
bitter was the hatred to the English that rankled strong in every
breast.  The half-breeds had an old score to settle, and this was
another desperate attempt on their part to arouse the dissatisfied
natives against the Loyalists.

For a time it was an orderly gathering, and as the men ate of the
abundance of food which had been provided, they talked in a quiet
manner.  But when the rum, of which there seemed to be no end, was
passed around all became more talkative.  They harangued, cursed, and
wrangled with one another until it appeared to the concealed watchers
that the whole affair would end in a fizzle.  But Flazeet, the
half-breed leader, seemed to be perfectly satisfied, and at times a
grim smile overspread his dark brutal face.

Leaping at length to his feet, he ordered his companions to be silent.
When he spoke in such a peremptory tone, they knew that it was well for
them to obey, so after a little grumbling they settled down to listen
to what he had to say.

Flazeet understood the Indian language, and was also well acquainted
with the natives, so it was to them he now addressed his words.  He
told them first of all of the greatness of their race, and that the
Great Spirit had given to their forefathers the land on which they
lived.  It was theirs, and no one had any right to take it from them.
But strangers were coming in, and King George was going to take their
hunting-grounds away and give them to others.  And who were these
newcomers?  They were people who had been driven out of their own
country for their badness.  They had fought against the great white
chief, George Washington, who had been so good to the Indians, and had
sent them many presents during the war.  These strangers had been
defeated, and thousands of them had already arrived in ships, and were
coming up the river to take possession of the hunting-grounds.  The
Indians would be driven out.  They would die, because the newcomers
would kill all the moose, deer, and caribou, cut down the trees, and
destroy the fish on the various streams.  These were some of the things
they would do, and the Indians would have no hunting-grounds, so they,
their wives and their children would starve.  Would the Indians allow
this?  Would they let these bad men come in and take their lands?  No,
they must fight, drive these people out, and keep the country which was
theirs by right.  And now was the time to fight, before too many
strangers arrived.

This in brief was Flazeet's long harangue.  It made a deep impression
upon the Indians, and they voiced their sentiments by occasional grunts
of approval.  So excited did several become when the speech was ended,
that they leaped to their feet, and inflamed by the words and the rum,
they were ready to march at once against the strangers.  But Flazeet
told them to wait, as the newcomers were many and well armed.  It would
be necessary to move slowly, and to be very careful.  And, besides,
there were Indians who would stand by the treaty which had been made
with King George at the mouth of the river, and they would have to
fight against them.  This matter must be kept a profound secret, and
when they did attack, it must be swift and deadly.

With considerable difficulty Flazeet managed to calm the warlike
natives.  Then more rum was passed around, followed by much talking and
squabbling.  All this was most gratifying to Flazeet, and especially
interesting to the two couriers concealed among the bushes.  Pete's
great body quivered with excitement, and Dane could hardly control
himself.  How he longed for a score of tested men, that he might spring
upon the rebels, and give them the surprise of their lives.

When at length the excitement had subsided, Gab Rauchad rose slowly to
his feet.  He was a wiry little half-breed, with a cunning, fox-like
face.  He spoke in French, and he addressed himself chiefly to his own
people.  He took them back to the expulsion of the Acadians by the
English in 1755, a tale old and yet ever new.  In vivid language he
described the happy condition of the Acadians at Grand Pré, the lands
they had cleared, and the peaceful lives they led.  Then came the
English monsters, broke up their domestic hearths, confiscated their
property, and drove them from the country.  He described in detail the
privations the expelled Acadians endured, how they wandered from place
to place, and the ills which overtook them.

For some time he spoke, and every word told of the burning rage which
filled his heart.  His hatred to the English was intense, and he
declared that the time of vengeance had now arrived.  With the aid of
the Indians they would serve the newcomers as their fool of a king had
served the Acadians.  He became greatly excited as he talked, dancing
about, waving his arms, and shrieking forth words of defiance and
revenge.  He cursed King George and the English in general, and called
upon all present to unite now in a great effort to free the land from
the newcomers, and to hold it for the expelled Acadians and the Indians
who were their brothers and comrades in distress.

All this was hard for Dane to endure, and as he listened his nimble
mind was forming some definite plan of action.  That it must be
immediate he was well aware, as no doubt these rebels would not be long
in carrying out their evil and treacherous designs upon the newcomers.
His mind naturally turned to Jean.  Suppose that band of men before him
should sweep down unexpectedly upon the little settlement below Oak
Point, how much mercy would they be likely to grant the Loyalists?  He
imagined what would be the fate of the women, especially Jean and other
maidens.  He shuddered as he thought of Joe Flazeet and his companions
gloating over their victims.

"The English took the lands of the Acadians at Grand Pré because they
wanted them for themselves."  It was Rauchad speaking, and he was
appealing to the Indians as Flazeet had done to the half-breeds.  "And
as they took those lands, so they will take your hunting grounds and
drive you out.  The Acadians had happy homes; what have they now?
Nothing.  They had plenty; now they are starving.  And who did this?
King George, our mortal enemy.  France and England are now at war.  But
France will win, and this land will belong to us once again, and then
the Indians will be well treated, and we will all live as one brother.
Let us do our part now in fighting for the good King of France."

His words met with much approval, and when he had ended, Flazeet arose
and outlined the plan of attack.  This was just what Dane was waiting
to hear, and he missed not a single word.  He was greatly excited, and
he controlled himself with difficulty as he listened to Flazeet.  The
Loyalists down river were to be wiped out first of all, especially
those below Oak Point and at Kingston Creek.  They would then move
rapidly up river and have the entire country conquered ere assistance
could reach the newcomers from Fort Howe.  It would be a clean sweep of
the objectionable strangers, and what could Major Studholme do with the
few men under his command?

When Dane had gained all the information that was necessary, he touched
Pete on the shoulder, and in another minute they were away from the
scene of wild revelry which had now begun.  It did not take them long
to reach the narrow channel, and launch their canoe.  This they headed
up stream, and with strong arms drove it through the water, straight
for Oromocto miles beyond.




CHAPTER XIII

THE KING'S RANGERS

Several days had passed in quiet contentment at the little settlement
of Loyal after Dane's departure.  Jean missed him very much and longed
for his return.  The evenings were now dark and cool, so as she and her
father sat before the fire they often talked about the absent one, and
wondered what could be detaining him.  Neighbours at times joined them,
and discussed the possibility of an attack by the Indians and the
slashers.  But the Colonel scoffed at such an idea.  He maintained that
the natives were at peace with the English, and would not be aroused by
the rebels to molest the Loyalists.

Each day anxious eyes were turned upon the river, hoping to see the
white sails of the _Polly_ bearing up stream.  Captain Leavitt had
promised to return before winter to bring the needed supplies for the
long, hard months ahead.

Something, however, at length occurred which diverted their attention
from the _Polly_, and gave them considerable concern.  This was the
arrival of several canoes filled with men.  There were a score of men
in all, and they received a most hearty welcome.  The leader was
William Davidson, the King's purveyor, who, with several others, was
entertained at supper by the Colonel and his daughter.  That evening a
bonfire was built upon the shore, and around this the visitors and most
of the people of the settlement gathered.  It was a pleasant assembly,
even though the night was cool.  A liberal supply of Jamaica rum was
passed around, and this was supposed to add greatly to the comfort of
all.

Jean sat by her father's side, deeply interested in all that was taking
place.  Her heart was light, for Davidson had told her that Dane would
be with her in a day or two.  He and Pete were at present away on
special business, the nature of which he did not say.  Jean liked the
looks of these visitors.  They were all hardy, keen, well-built, and
fearless-eyed rangers in the service of their King.  They had to be all
that, for their leader would employ no others.  But they were full of
life and spirit when they met together, and many were the stories told
of their various adventures.  This night, notwithstanding the
seriousness of the business which lay ahead, they were like a number of
boys just out of school.  It was something new to them to meet so many
interesting strangers such as they found at Loyal.

William Davidson was a worthy leader of such a band of men, and they
held him in the highest regard.  He was a man in the prime of life, and
had led a stirring career.  Coming from Scotland, he had settled on the
Miramichi River, where for a time he engaged in the fishery and fur
trade.  During the war his Indian neighbours, incited by certain
rebels, made his life so unbearable that he was forced to flee to the
St. John River where he settled near the mouth of the Oromocto River.
Even here he could not find peace, for the following summer he was
plundered by the Indians, who took all his goods upon which they could
lay their hands.  Davidson was a marked man owing to his loyalty to
King George, and the rebels here also aroused the natives against him.
Little wonder, then, that when he was appointed the King's purveyor in
supplying masts for His Majesty's navy that the hostility between him
and the rebels, as well as many Indians, still continued.

But Davidson was a man not easily daunted.  His courage, combined with
his cool judgment, was well known all along the river.  And since his
entrance into the King's service he had given many outstanding proofs
of his bravery and ability.  He was quick to act, but never more so
than when Dane Norwood brought him word at Oromocto of the plot against
the Loyalists.

When he at length rose to speak, all talking ceased, and the people of
the settlement felt that they were now to learn the reason of the
rangers' presence in their midst.  And neither were they mistaken.
After Davidson had thanked them for their kindly reception, he told
them of the danger which threatened their homes, and perhaps their
lives.  He mentioned the council which had been held on the shore of
the Wedneebak, and how Dane Norwood and Pete, the Indian, had brought
him the news.  He and his men had accordingly hastened down river as
fast as possible to ask the men of Loyal to join them in overcoming and
putting the plotters to rout.

"But why should they attack us?" the Colonel asked when Davidson had
ended.  "They do not know us, and we have never harmed them."

"Simply because you are loyal to King George," was the reply.  "The
half-breeds, who are descended from the Acadians, think they have a
great grievance against England for expelling their forefathers from
Grand Pré in 1755.  During the war they made no end of trouble, and did
their best to stir up the Indians to rebellion.  I know only too well
what they did, for they drove me from my home on the Miramichi, and
caused me a great deal of annoyance up river.  They are at their old
tricks again, and this is their last hope.

"But have they not reason for being angry at what England did to their
forefathers at Grand Pré?" Henry Watson, a Loyalist, asked.  "We have
heard much about that transaction, and it was all very unfavourable to
England.  Perhaps there is another side to the story."

"Indeed there is," Davidson replied, "although it is very difficult to
separate the truth from the fiction.  It was a very sad affair, and it
is a pity that it ever happened.  Perhaps England made a mistake and
acted hastily, but we must consider how serious was the situation when
the expulsion took place.  Sentiment has played an important part, and
the thought of thousands of people deprived of their lands, and driven
out to wander as exiles in strange countries has naturally stirred many
hearts."

"But were the Acadians disloyal?" the Colonel asked.  "We have been
told that they were not, and that all were punished for the
indiscretions of a few."

"That may be so," and Davidson looked thoughtfully before him.  "But
the English contend that when the Acadians settled on their lands over
forty years before it was with the distinct understanding that they
could only retain them by becoming British subjects.  But they had not
complied with those terms.  The English contend that the Acadians did
everything in their power to assist the French and embarrass the
English.  Many of them joined with the Indians in the attacks on the
garrison at Annapolis, and on other English fortified posts.  They
supplied England's enemies with cattle and grain at Louisbourg,
Beauséjour, and elsewhere.  They acted the part of spies on the
English, and maintained a constant correspondence with the French.
They were on friendly terms with the Indians, who were such a menace to
the English that an English settler could scarcely venture beyond his
barn, or a soldier beyond musket shot of his fort for fear of being
killed or scalped.  That is the English version of the affair which I
heard in Halifax.  The Acadians deny it, and say it is all false."

"We heard," one of the settlers said, "that the Acadians were expelled
because the greedy English colonists looked upon their fair farms with
covetous eyes, and that the government was influenced by these persons."

"I have heard that, too," Davidson replied, "and I have made enquiries
about that matter.  But I do not believe it is true, because those
abandoned farms were not settled by the English until years after the
Acadians were expelled, and the lands at Annapolis were not occupied
until nine or ten years after the French had left them.  Why did not
the English colonists settle upon those abandoned farms at once, if
they were so anxious to have them?  They did nothing of the kind, so I
do not think that had anything to do with the expulsion."

"What was the real cause, then?" Henry Watson asked.

"It was the seriousness of the whole situation.  England was just
entering upon a great war with France.  It was a death-struggle, so
there was no room for half-way measures.  Feeling ran high, and the
English may have become panicky.  There was a bitter hatred, too, which
may have had something to do with it.  The English believed that with
so many concealed enemies in the country, and such a large number of
open enemies on the borders, their position was far from secure.  They
thought that the Acadians were beginning to show their real feelings,
especially so whenever a rumour reached them that a French fleet was in
the Bay of Fundy.  Anyway, they at last became so much worked up that
they ordered the Acadians to give up the arms they had in their
possession, and to take the oath of allegiance to King George.
Refusing to take the oath, the Acadians were expelled.  You now know
both sides of the pathetic affair.  The story of the expelled people is
generally believed, partly, no doubt, for sentimental reasons.  The
English may have acted hastily and unwisely, but they contend that
there was nothing else to do under the circumstances."

"So some of those expelled people came here, and are now trying to make
trouble for us; is that it?" the Colonel asked.

"Some of them are.  Others are living very quietly, and behaving
themselves in a proper manner.  But there are several very bitter and
unscrupulous agitators, chief of whom are the half breeds, Flazeet and
Rauchad, who will stop at almost nothing.  They are full of hatred and
long for revenge.  They have not only drawn with them a number of
lawless Acadians, and English-speaking traitors, but they are now
inducing too many Indians to unite with them.  I have suspected them
for some time, and watch has been kept upon their movements.  They have
been plotting all summer, and now they are about to act.  But thanks to
our couriers, Dane Norwood, and Pete, the Indian, I know of their
plans.  We are, therefore, here to ask you to assist us.  Others, we
believe, will come to our aid, so we should be able to put the rebels
to rout without much difficulty."

The conversation now became general.  The Loyalists were thoroughly
aroused, and all the men agreed to help the rangers against the enemy.
Davidson did not explain what he intended to do, but asked all to trust
him for the present.  With this the Loyalists were satisfied, and they
went back to their houses to make preparations for their march against
the rebels.

Davidson and his men slept upon the ground that night, wrapped in their
blankets.  This had been their life for years, so they thought nothing
of it.  These rangers who knew every trail and stream in the country,
were at home wherever night overtook them.  Possessions they had none.
A life of indolence and ease they despised.  The spirit of adventure
animated their souls, and their only creed was loyalty to King George.
With such men Davidson wielded a strong influence in a region where the
King's regular forces could not penetrate.  It was largely due to such
bands of men that England's prestige was maintained in the heart of the
wilderness.




CHAPTER XIV

WHERE THE RANGERS LED

The next day there was considerable stir at the settlement.  The women
were busy cooking, while the men spent some time cleaning their muskets
and "running" bullets.  All felt anxious, and serious faces were seen
among the Loyalists.  Old Mammy was greatly disturbed, and Jean found
it difficult to calm her fears.

"Why, Mammy, you never made such a fuss all during the war when daddy
was in danger every day," the girl chided.

"Ah, chile, dat was different.  Yer daddy was fightin' white men den.
But dese are Injuns, an' dey'll scalp de wounded, an' den tie 'em to a
tree an' burn 'em alive.  Den dey'll come an' carry off de women fo'
wives.  I'll die befo' I'll be de wife of any ol' Injun, I sure will."

"Don't you worry, Mammy," Jean assured.  "The Indians are not going to
come here.  The rangers and our men will be able to handle them.  I am
not one bit afraid."

As the shades of evening were stealing over the land, the men gathered
for their march against the enemy.  They were a formidable band, and
Davidson was much pleased as he watched them fall into line.  The
Colonel had charge of the little squad of Loyalists, and his old spirit
possessed him as he drilled and instructed them for a few minutes in
front of his house.  The rangers watched this performance with
interest, and smiled indulgently.

"I am afraid that won't do much good in wilderness warfare," Davidson
reminded.  "General Braddock tried it, and you know what happened.
However, I am hoping that there will be no fighting, so it won't make
much difference."

Half an hour later the men were swinging on their way through the
woods.  No one spoke, and all walked as warily as possible.  As night
shut down travelling became more difficult for the men of the
settlement, although the rangers seemed as much at home in the darkness
as in the daylight.  For over two and a half hours they moved steadily
forward, and at length stopped by the side of a little brook which
flowed down to the river.  Here they rested and ate some of the food
which they had brought with them.  They had not been long here ere a
low whistle sounded up the valley.  Davidson at once replied, and a few
minutes later soft approaching footsteps were heard.  Then a dim form
emerged from the darkness, and stood in their midst.

"I am glad to see you on time, Dane," Davidson accosted.  "How many men
did you get?"

"Twenty-five," was the reply.  "Pete is bringing them up.  I slipped on
ahead to see if things are all right."

"Yes, everything is working well so far.  Have you found out anything
new?"

"Nothing except that some of the rebels have gathered at Pine Lake, and
others are expected to-morrow.  Pete and I were trailing them to-day,
and it was rare sport."

"I hope you were careful, Dane."

"We are always careful, though it wasn't necessary to-day.  The Indians
were quite cautious, but some of the white men lumbered along like
oxen, cursing and complaining at a great rate.  Flazeet and Rauchad had
quite a time with them, and kept encouraging them with promises of rum
and the fun they would have with the Loyalists."

"They'll get a different kind of fun from what they expect," Davidson
replied.  "And the more rum they swig, the better it will be for us.
How far is it from here to the lake?"

"About five miles in a straight course.  We can do it easily in an hour
and a half."

"Oh, you could do it all right in that time, and less, for that matter.
But all here are not so well accustomed to the woods at night.  Isn't
that so, Colonel?"

"It certainly is," was the emphatic reply.  "I shall need two or three
hours, for I find the walking very difficult.  And, besides, one has to
be careful not to make any noise."

"Whatever noise we make will not trouble the rebels," and Davidson
laughed.  "They'll be sleeping as sound as babies by daylight."

In a short time Pete arrived with the recruits from Kingston, and they
were given a hearty welcome.  It was a glad meeting for the Loyalists,
and they spent several hours in earnest conversation about their
various affairs, and exchanging bits of information concerning the old
homes they had left.  The men from Kingston described the progress they
were making in clearing their lands, and building their houses.

Several small fires had been started, and around these the men
gathered.  The night was cool, and a stiff wind from the northwest
swayed the tops of the great trees.  Had it not been for the serious
business upon which they were bent, the Loyalists would have enjoyed
the outing immensely.  But the thought of what lay ahead was ever with
them.  There was something uncanny about this camping-spot in the
forest, and they often glanced apprehensively toward the walls of
blackness which surrounded them.  They were not cowards, for their
courage had been fully proved in many a hard fight.  Even the Colonel
felt somewhat depressed as the night wore on.  It seemed weird and
unnatural, this mode of warfare against a skulking enemy.  If he could
only lead his men against the rebels out in the open it would have been
different.  But this waiting for hours, and with no apparent method of
attack, was hard for him to endure.

The rangers, on the other hand, did not mind it in the least.  This was
their life, and they took it as a matter of course.  Dane, especially,
was at his ease.  He was glad of the rest, as he had been on the move
all day.  But he was anxious to get through with the job that he might
return to Jean.  He had asked the Colonel about her, and they had
talked apart for some time.

"I hope she is not too much distressed over this affair," he said.

"She is naturally worried," was the reply.  "But she has great
confidence in the rangers--and in you," he added after a slight pause.
"I agree with her, and feel greatly indebted to you and Pete for what
you have done.  I hope we may be able to settle the rebels once and for
all."

"I don't think there is any doubt about it.  So far, our plans have
worked without a hitch, and Davidson is an old reliable hand at such
work.  Strategy with him is the main thing, and it has proven useful on
many occasions ere this.  He always avoids bloodshed as far as
possible."

It was a great relief to the weary Loyalists when Davidson at last
bestirred himself, and told all to get ready for the march to the lake.
The band was at once divided into five groups, each containing several
rangers, who were well acquainted with their leader's plans.  Dane
stayed close by the Colonel, carried his musket, and assisted him when
his steps lagged.  It was a slow, toilsome journey through the forest
on that cold, frosty morning.  There were hills to climb, and swamps to
cross.  It would have been hard work even in the daytime, but night
added to the difficulty of the undertaking.  The Loyalists, not
accustomed to such travelling, often stumbled and tripped over stones
and snags.  But the rangers walked as if on a beaten highway, and
proved of great assistance to the less skilful.  No one complained,
however, and when any one spoke, it was in a subdued voice.  The
Colonel strove bravely to hold his own with the younger men.  But he
was becoming very weary, and more than once he leaned on Dane's arm for
support.

"I am sorry to burden you" he said, "but this trip is almost too much
for me."

"I am afraid it is," was the reply.  "You should have stayed at home
and let us attend to the rebels."

"I suppose I should have done that," and the Colonel sighed as he
paused for a minute on the brow of a hill they had just climbed.  "But
I want to do my part.  I did it during the war to the best of my
ability.  Jean was proud of me then, and I do not want her to be
ashamed of me now."

Dane was about to reply when a slight sound from one of the rangers
sealed his lips.  He knew that it spelled danger, and that caution was
needed.

"We are close to the lake," he whispered.  "It is just over there.  We
are to remain here for a while."

The men were glad enough to rest, so throwing themselves down upon the
ground, they refreshed themselves with some food.  Anxiously they
awaited the coming of the dawn, and through a break in the trees they
often turned their eyes eastward.  At length the far-off horizon rose
slowly into view, the darkness began to melt away, and objects about
them grew more distinct.  This was the signal for them to continue
their journey, and once again they set their faces toward the lake.  It
was easier travelling now, and seldom did any one stumble.  This was
well, for the strictest silence had to be maintained as they neared
their goal.  They were walking in single file, and the rangers were
doubly alert, peering here and there, and listening to every sound.

At length they separated, Dane going alone with the Colonel somewhat to
the right.  Each ranger took one or two of the settlers, and in another
minute all had disappeared among the trees.  Dane led the Colonel
slowly along, until presently an opening appeared before them.

"It is the lake," Dane whispered.  "We must creep now to the edge of
the woods, and keep ourselves well hidden."

Dropping upon their hands and knees, they worked their way along until
they came right to the border of the forest.  Here they stopped, and by
the dim light of the morning they could see before them a band of men
lying upon the shore, wrapped in their blankets.  There were fifty or
more, including Indians, and they were sound asleep.

"We've got them this time, all right," Dane again whispered.  "Here is
your gun; you may need it.  We must now wait for Davidson to make the
next move."

It was a beautiful spot which the rebels had chosen for their place of
meeting.  The lake was not large, but it lay like a gem amidst its
setting of great dark pines.  The shore where the plotters were lying
was sandy, and from all appearance they had spent much of the night in
a wild carousal.  They were huddled in various grotesque shapes, and
several were snoring loudly.

In about fifteen minutes a sound, scarcely audible, was heard near
Dane's side, and glancing around, he saw Davidson creeping toward him.

"The trap is all set," the leader whispered as he came close.  "It only
waits to be sprung."

"Are the men all arranged?" Dane asked.

"They are in fine order, and all in line, only a few feet from one
another.  The Loyalists caught on in no time.  I am surprised that the
rebels are all asleep.  It's a wonder they didn't place some one on
guard."

"I believe they did.  Look," and Dane motioned to a huddled form
somewhat apart from the others.  "There is the guard, but the rum must
have affected him like it did the rest.  Anyway, they were not
suspicious, and had no idea that their plot was known."

"Now get ready," Davidson ordered.  "We must round up this bunch before
any more arrive."

Then from his lips sounded forth a clear peculiar whistle.  Almost
immediately wild yells from a score of rangers rent the air, followed
by ringing cheers of defiance.  Dazed and startled, a number of rebels
threw aside their blankets, scrambled to their knees, and looked
around.  Flazeet and Rauchad were the first to comprehend the
situation.  Yelling to their still sleeping comrades, they leaped to
their feet, and were about to seize their muskets, when Davidson
sternly ordered them to desist.

"Hands up," he commanded.

The ringleaders instantly obeyed, for they at once recognised the
King's purveyor, the one man they so greatly feared.  But one
dare-devil rebel sprang for his gun a few feet away.  He never reached
it, however, for from the border of the forest two muskets spoke, and
he crumpled in his tracks upon the sand.  This was sufficient warning
to the rest, and all now awake stood sullenly and silently staring hard
at their captors who had come into full view.

"Get over there, and be quick about it," Davidson ordered, motioning to
the left.

The rebels at once obeyed, and standing huddled together, awaited
further developments.  Most of the men had no heart for any opposition,
even if they had the opportunity.  They had been promised plenty of
rum, a good time, and no end of fun with the Loyalists.  Such a
disastrous outcome as this had been far from their minds.  The Indians
now realised that they had been led into a trap, and their hearts were
full of rage, more against their leaders than their captors.  But
Flazeet and Rauchad were not in the least repentant.  Their eyes and
faces expressed their anger and hatred as they watched Davidson coming
toward them.

"What is the meaning of all this?" the purveyor asked.

"It's none of your business," Flazeet replied with a savage oath.

"I've made it my business, though, and so have the men with me."  A
smile lurked about the corners of Davidson's mouth as he watched the
confounded rebels.  "You didn't expect this, Joe, did you?"

"And why should I?  Why can't we meet here without being disturbed?
What right have you to come upon us like this?  What do you want,
anyway?"

"I want you and a few others, and you know very well what for, so don't
begin any nonsense."

"This is an outrage," Flazeet stormed.  "I always thought this was a
free country, where men can meet together if they want to without being
held up like this."

"It is a free country, Joe, and we are trying to keep it so.  But when
men start plotting against peaceable people, they must be restrained.
That is the reason why we are here."

"Do you mean to say that we are plotters?"

"Yes, and the meanest kind at that.  You have been stirring up the
Indians and others for some time.  You w

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