ed
directly toward the camp. Crossing the brook they went around a cluster
of thorn bushes, and came face to face with two men. Shif'less Sol,
quick as a panther, swung his clubbed rifle like lightning and the
foremost of the two, a Shawnee warrior, dropped like a log, and Henry,
too close for action, seized the other by the throat in his powerful
hands.

It was not a great and brawny throat into which those fingers of steel
settled, and its owner began to gasp quickly. Then Henry noticed that he
held in his grasp not an Indian, but a white man, or rather a boy, a
fair English boy, a youthful and open face upon which the forest had not
yet set its tan.

He released his grasp slowly. He could not bear the pain and terror in
the eyes of the slender English youth, who, though he wore the uniform
of a subaltern, seemed so much out of place there in the deep woods. Yet
the forester meant to take no needless risk.

"Promise that you will not cry out and I spare you," he said, his blue
eyes looking straight into those of the lad, which returned his gaze
with defiance. The steel grasp settled down again.

"Better promise," said Henry. "It's your only chance."

The obstinate look passed out of his eyes, and the lad nodded, as he
could not speak. Then Henry took away his hand and said:

"Remember your word."

The English youth nodded again, gurgled two or three times, and rubbed
his throat:

"'Twas a mighty grip you had upon me. Who are you?"

"The owners of this forest, and we've jest been tellin' you that you've
no business here on our grounds," said the shiftless one.

The boy--he was nothing more--stared at them in astonishment. It was
obvious to the two forest runners that he had little acquaintance with
the woods. His eyes filled with wonder as he gazed upon the two fierce
faces, and the two powerful figures, arrayed in buckskin.

"Your forest?" he said.

"Yes," replied Henry quietly, "and bear in mind that I held your life in
my hands. Had you been an Indian you would be dead now."

"I won't forget it," said the youth, who seemed honest enough, "and I'm
not going to cry out and bring the warriors down upon you for two very
good reasons--because I've promised not to do so, and if I did, I know
that your comrade there would shoot me down the next instant."

"I shorely would," said Shif'less Sol, grimly.

"And now," said Henry, "what is your name and what are you doing here?"

"My name is Roderick Cawthorn