twenty years of age. Given
proper surroundings, I fancied, here was a girl who might make trouble
for a man. Eyes like hers, I imagined, had before this set some man's
heart astir; and one so fair as she never waited long in this world for
admirers.

She stooped and spread out her hands before the flames. I could see that
her hands were small and well formed, could see the firelight shine pink
at the inner edges of her fingers. On one finger, as I could not avoid
noticing, was a curious ring of plain gold. The setting, also of gold,
was deeply cut into the figure of a rose. I recalled that I had never
seen a ring just similar. Indeed, it seemed to me, as I stole a furtive
glance at her now and then, I had never seen a girl just similar.

[Illustration: THEY FOUGHT FURIOUSLY THE YELLING CHARGING REDSKIN
WARRIORS]

[Illustration: THE WAGONS DRAW INTO A DEFENSIVE CIRCLE]

We had waited perhaps not over an hour at our fireside, undecided what
to do, when Auberry raised a hand. "Listen," he said. "There's a boat
coming"; and presently we all heard the splash of oars. Our fire had
been seen by one of the boats of the _River Belle_, out picking up such
stragglers as could be found.

"Hello, there!" called a rough voice to us, as the boat grated at our
beach. Auberry and I walked over and found that it was the mate of the
boat, with a pair of oarsmen in a narrow river skiff.

"How many's there of you?" asked the mate--"Five?--I can't take you
all."

"All right," said Auberry, "this gentleman and I will walk up to the
town on this side. You take the women and the boy. We'll send down for
our things in the morning, if you don't come up."

So our little bivouac on the beach came to an end. A moment later the
passengers were embarked, and Auberry and I, standing at the bow, were
about to push off the boat for them.

"A moment, sir," exclaimed our friend of the fireside, rising and
stepping toward me as I stood alongside the boat. "You are forgetting
your coat."

She would have taken it from her shoulders, but I forbade it. She
hesitated, and finally said, "I thank you so much"; holding out her
hand.

I took it. It was a small hand, with round fingers, firm of clasp. I
hate a hard-handed woman, or one with mushy fingers, but this, as it
seemed to me, was a hand excellently good to clasp--warm now, and no
longer trembling in the terrors of the night.

"I do not know your name, sir," she said, "but I should like my fa