h my companion's, once my first flurry
of fear was expended. The Dales were in no immediate danger, and if any
hostile band was below New River it would be a small one. Once more I
allowed my horse to take his time. I began to find room for wondering how
I was to overcome my embarrassment once we did come up with the Dales.

Ericus Dale would rant and indulge in abuse. Patricia would be remembering
my lack of faith in her father's influence over the natives. She would
want none of my company. But if Cousin and I could trail them unseen until
they entered a small settlement at the head of the Bluestone, where they
would be sure to pause before making for the head of the Clinch, we could
pretend we were scouting far south and had met them by accident; then we
could ride on ahead of them.

Their trail was simple to follow. The Dales were mounted and Ward was
afoot and leading a pack-horse. We came to their several camps, and at
each of these I observed the girl was wearing my moccasins. When Cousin
would behold the small imprint his face would twist in anguish. Poor
devil!

For three days we leisurely followed them, and each sunrise found me
entertaining fewer fears for the girl's safety. We timed our progress so
as to pitch our last camp within a mile of the settlement in Abb's Valley
on the Bluestone, intending to reconnoiter it for signs of the Dales
before showing ourselves.

The valley was about ten miles long and very narrow and possessing
unusually fertile soil. It was named after Absalom Looney, a hunter, who
claimed to have discovered it. Cousin informed me there were three cabins
and a small fort in the valley when he last visited it. At that time one
of the families was planning to cross the mountains and sacrifice the
summer's planting.

"Mebbe they've all come off since then. Or them that's stayed may be
killed an' sculped by this time," he added.

"Whatever may have happened to the settlers is all finished by this time
and there can be no danger for the Dales," I declared.

"I 'low they're packin' their worst danger along with 'em," he mumbled.

"Meaning John Ward?"

"Meaning him," was the terse answer.

This set all my fears to galloping again, and they rode one another close.
What if Ward were the creature Cousin pictured him? Then he must have
designs on the Dales, and he would persuade them to travel in a direction
which would lead them into a trap. If Ward were "red" he already had
planned ju