little party well and happy. Early in the afternoon Jim and
Nell, accompanied by Kate and her lover, started out into the woods
just beyond the clearing for the purpose of gathering wild flowers
to decorate the cabin.

"We are both thinking of--him," Jim said, after he and Nell had
walked some little way in silence.

"Yes," answered Nell, simply.

"I hope--I pray Joe comes back, but if he doesn't--Nell--won't you
care a little for me?"

He received no answer. But Nell turned her face away.

"We both loved him. If he's gone forever our very love for him
should bring us together. I know--I know he would have wished that."

"Jim, don't speak of love to me now," she whispered. Then she turned
to the others. "Come quickly; here are great clusters of wild
clematis and goldenrod. How lovely! Let us gather a quantity."

The young men had almost buried the girls under huge masses of the
beautiful flowers, when the soft tread of moccasined feet caused
them all to turn in surprise. Six savages stood waist-deep in the
bushes, where they had lain concealed. Fierce, painted visages
scowled from behind leveled rifles.

"Don't yell!" cried a hoarse voice in English. Following the voice
came a snapping of twigs, and then two other figures came into view.
They were Girty and Silvertip.

"Don't yell, er I'll leave you layin' here fer the buzzards," said
the renegade. He stepped forward and grasped Young, at the same time
speaking in the Indian language and pointing to a nearby tree.
Strange to relate, the renegade apparently wanted no bloodshed.
While one of the savages began to tie Young to the tree, Girty
turned his gaze on the girls. His little, yellow eyes glinted; he
stroked his chin with a bony hand, and his dark, repulsive face was
wreathed in a terrible, meaning smile.

"I've been layin' fer you," he croaked, eyeing Nell. "Ye're the
purtiest lass, 'ceptin' mebbe Bet Zane, I ever seed on the border. I
got cheated outen her, but I've got you; arter I feed yer Injun
preacher to ther buzzards mebbe ye'll larn to love me."

Nell gazed one instant into the monster's face. Her terror-stricken
eyes were piteous to behold. She tried to speak; but her voice
failed. Then, like stricken bird, she fell on the grass.

Chapter XIV.

Not many miles from the Village of Peace rose an irregular chain of
hills, the first faint indications of the grand Appalachian Mountain
system. These ridges were thickly wooded with white oak,