seless as a shadow the canoe glided down this stretch, the paddle
dipping regularly, flashing brightly, and scattering diamond drops
in the clear moonlight.

Another turn in the stream and a sound like the roar of an
approaching storm as it is borne on a rising wind, broke the
silence. It was the roar of rapids or falls. The stream narrowed;
the water ran swifter; rocky ledges rose on both sides, gradually
getting higher and higher. Crow rose to his feet and looked ahead.
Then he dropped to his knees and turned the head of the canoe into
the middle of the stream. The roar became deafening. Looking forward
Isaac saw that they were entering a dark gorge. In another moment
the canoe pitched over a fall and shot between two high, rocky
bluffs. These walls ran up almost perpendicularly two hundred feet;
the space between was scarcely twenty feet wide, and the water
fairly screamed as it rushed madly through its narrow passage. In
the center it was like a glancing sheet of glass, weird and dark,
and was bordered on the sides by white, seething foam-capped waves
which tore and dashed and leaped at their stony confines.

Though the danger was great, though Death lurked in those jagged
stones and in those black waits Isaac felt no fear, he knew the
strength of that arm, now rigid and again moving with lightning
swiftness; he knew the power of the eye which guided them.

Once more out under the starry sky; rifts, shallows, narrows, and
lake-like basins were passed swiftly. At length as the sky was
becoming gray in the east, they passed into the shadow of what was
called the Standing Stone. This was a peculiarly shaped stone-faced
bluff, standing high over the river, and taking its name from Tarhe,
or Standing Stone, chief of all the Hurons.

At the first sight of that well known landmark, which stood by the
Wyandot village, there mingled with Isaac's despondency and
resentment some other feeling that was akin to pleasure; with a
quickening of the pulse came a confusion of expectancy and bitter
memories as he thought of the dark eyed maiden from whom he had fled
a year ago.

"Co-wee-Co-woe," called out one of the Indians in the bow of the
canoe. The signal was heard, for immediately an answering shout came
from the shore.

When a few moments later the canoe grated softly on a pebbly beach.
Isaac saw, indistinctly in the morning mist, the faint outlines of
tepees and wigwams, and he knew he was once more in the encampment