re right, Hester," assented Christie, sadly, "and with all my
heart do I wish I were free to share your mission. There is no peril,
no hardship, that I would not gladly face in the cause for which you
are enlisted. I tremble, though, for your safety, and cannot believe
that you will escape without detection from the savages who encircle
us."

"I can try," answered Donald, "and the cause is certainly worthy of the
effort."

So it was settled, and soon afterward the two young men, whose
friendship had become like the love of brothers, stood by the partially
opened door of the blockhouse. The night was of inky blackness, and
the silence was profound. Only a dull glow still lighted faintly the
smouldering ruins of the commandant's quarters. Donald held a rifle,
and bore with him a stout knife, a small supply of ammunition, and a
little store of food. No word accompanied the parting. There was but
a long, firm hand clasp, and then one was gone as noiselessly as a
fleeting shadow, while the other remained to meet his unknown fate.

CHAPTER XXV

DONALD FIRES THE MINE AND SAVES THE BLOCKHOUSE

Knowing the savage nature as well as he did, Donald believed that his
well-loved friend, as well as every one of the gallant fellows under
his command, would be put to death in case they surrendered; or, if
they were spared for the time being, it would only be for torture in
the Indian villages. He was determined, therefore, to make an effort
to save them; but his half-formed plan was of such a perilous nature
that he dared not confide it to Christie, for he knew that the latter
would never consent to its being undertaken. Once outside the
blockhouse, however, and lost to sight in the darkness, he was free to
act as he pleased.

After going a few steps he paused to listen, but no sound save that of
night-birds and the lapping of little waves on the lake shore came to
his ears. The silence was profound, and assured him that even the
savages, wearied with long fighting, were snatching a few hours of
sleep. On either side of him lay the still smoking ruins of the post,
for of all its buildings, the stronghold of logs alone remained
standing.

From these charred heaps, fitful flames, fanned into life by the soft
night breeze, sprang up every now and then, casting fantastic bits of
light and shadow over the scene of desolation.

Reassured by the silence, the young soldier swiftly crossed the open
space beyond which