fact, nearly everything that the canoe had
contained was there excepting its passengers and the redoubtable tub.

"The disappearance of that tub is the strangest thing of all," muttered
Donald, as, exulting in this sudden wealth, he hastened to build a fire
and make the cup of coffee for which he was longing. "What reason
could the beggars have had for lugging it off? and why didn't I see
something of it in the boats yesterday? Too bad about Bullen, though,
for he was a good fellow in spite of his crotchets."

The daring plan that forced itself in Donald's mind the minute he saw
that canoe was to cross Lake Erie in it to Sandusky. There he would
certainly learn what had become of Cuyler and those who escaped with
him. Perhaps he would even find Edith there.

He was off the moment he had finished the hearty breakfast that
restored his strength, his confidence in himself and his belief that
everything was about to turn out for the best, after all. Nor did his
good fortune desert him, for the broad surface of the great lake was as
peaceful as a mill-pond all that day; the light breeze that ruffled it
was so directly in his favor that he was enabled to aid his paddle with
a sail, and at sunset he was nearing the southern coast. Camping where
he landed, he cooked, ate, and slept, starting again at break of day
for Sandusky, full of hope and anticipations of a warm welcome in that
stout little post.

The sun was barely an hour high when he reached his destination, only
to find a mass of charred and desolate ruins, that told with a mute
eloquence of the fate that had overtaken Sandusky.

CHAPTER XXII

AMID THE RUINS OF FORT SANDUSKY

To discover only ruin, desolation, and death, instead of the cheery
greetings of friends and the longed-for intelligence of Edith's safety
that he had so confidently expected to gain at Sandusky, was so bitter
a disappointment as to be bewildering, and it was some time ere Donald
could do aught save wander like one who is dazed, among the melancholy
ruins. He recalled his pleasant reception by Ensign Paully, the
commanding officer, only a month before, when he had stopped there on
his way down the lake, the cheerful evening he had spent in the
mess-room, and the hopeful conversation concerning the settlement soon
to be made near the sturdy little post. Now all that remained were
great heaps of ashes and half-burned logs, gaunt chimneys, and a score
of bodies, stripped, mutil