ilmore and Ensign Whitson, ready to wager anything on
anything, disputed as to the size of the creature,--if it had on no
feathers,--one maintaining that it was two inches long, the other, an
inch and a half. The bird brought a straw and arranged it carefully in
place in the loop-hole, and then singing, flew away, and came back with
a feather. His intention was evident.

"My young friend," said Stuart, carelessly eyeing him, "you are a fine
figure of a settler, but that loop-hole is ours!"

"Let him have it," said Demere. "We shall never need it."

The door opened suddenly, and the orderly, saluting, announced the
express from over the mountains. At once there ensued a great stir of
the tobacco smoke, and a laying aside of pipes in any coign of vantage
to better handle the mail from home, as soon as the official dispatches
should be read. And then, "Here's something from Fort Prince George,"
said Demere, from where he sat at the rude table with the papers
scattered before him. "A goodly packet," he continued, as he broke the
seal, in the expectant, pleased silence of the others. "Ensign Milne is
writing--both the official communication and a long personal letter,"
noting the signature.

At the first glance along the lines his face fell.

"Captain Coytmore is dead," he said in a low voice.

Murdered by the Indians he had been, in front of the fort, in the
presence of the officers of his own command! As the news was unfolded,
startled, amazed glances were exchanged; no word was spoken; the silence
was only broken by the low, tense voice as Demere read, and now and
again the wren's clear, sweet, reedy note, full of joyance, of life, as
the bird fluttered in and out and builded his nest in the loop-hole.

Without warning the blow had fallen. One morning it happened, the 16th
of February, when naught of moment seemed to impend. On the bank of the
Keowee River opposite to Fort Prince George, two Indian women appeared,
and as they loitered, seeming to have something in hand, the sentinel
called the attention of an officer of the fort,--Doharty it was,--who at
once went out to speak to them, thinking they might have some news. He
called out to them, having a trifle of Cherokee at command, but before
they could answer they were joined by Oconostota, the king of the Indian
tribe, arrayed in his buckskin shirt and leggings, and mounted upon a
very excellent chestnut horse. He told Doharty that he desired to speak
to the com