e for," said one, "an'
it's not yer duty to throw yer life away," and the wisdom of this
prevailed with him. But he was never the same man again. The stoop
came back to his shoulders never to leave them. He said little and
worked unceasingly, as though in that way to forget. On his first
opportunity he turned his face toward Virginia, resolved never to
bring his wife and little girl into the perils of the wilderness. The
journey back to Charlottesville was uneventful. Nearly as many weeks
were required for the making of it, as hours in this age of swift
transportation.

How he dreaded breaking the news to his wife! She was always so
patient with his many failures. Yet, the courage displayed by Mrs.
Allison at the setting out of husband and son was such as to leave no
doubt she would meet the new ordeal bravely, as indeed she did. From
the first, she expressed great hope that the boy had been made a
captive and in time would be restored to them, and so strongly did she
urge this view of the matter that her husband regained a little hope.
In his heart, however, there was a bitterness he could not overcome
and, as rumours of Indian outbreaks were more frequent, he became
uneasy. When, the following spring, General Andrew Lewis was ordered
by Governor Dunmore to lead an expedition down the Kanawha River, and
across the Ohio River to the Shawnee towns, David Allison resolved to
go. The men of the party from which Rodney was captured declared that
their assailants were Shawnees and this induced him to enlist under
Lewis.

The mortgage on the little place was as yet unpaid. Mr. Allison on his
return had reopened his school, but the pupils were few. He went to
Denham, told him of his desire to join the expedition against the
Shawnees and his reasons, and asked him if he would not allow him
longer time on the payments.

"All the time you want, Meester Allison, all the time you want," and
he smiled his greasy smile!

CHAPTER XII

IN THE MIDST OF INCREASING PERILS

Rodney did not dare to follow Francois back to the village, nor did he
think it wise to return to the tree. Being thirsty, he risked a visit
to the spring, waiting till the dusk deepened and the last squaw had
filled her kettles or the deerskin bottles in which they carried
water. Having drank, he concluded he would pass the night on a little
dry knoll near the spring, and from which he could observe what was
happening in the village.

As he lay looki