es, and the quantity of powder in their powder-horns.
Finding everything to their satisfaction, they were about to leave the
lodge, when Jean sprang to her feet and laid a hand upon Sam's arm.

"Don't kill the white men," she pleaded. "Drive them away, but, please
don't kill them."

Sam turned and looked at her in silence for a few seconds. His eyes
were filled with an expression of admiration for this fair girl. He
was willing to do anything for her, but he knew that she did not
understand the importance of the mission upon which he and the other
warriors were bent.

"You won't kill them, will you?" she asked, noting his silence.

"Slashers bad," Sam replied. "Slashers hurt babby."

"I know they would if they got the chance. But can't you drive them
away without killing them? Oh, it would be terrible if you should
shoot them! You killed one man, and isn't that enough?"

Sam was in a quandry. He longed for the blood of the slashers whom he
hated. This was a great chance to wipe them out of existence. Never
before had he had such a just cause against them, and why should he not
make the most of it? But it was hard for him to resist the request of
the white girl. He turned to the other Indians, and spoke to them in
quick, short syllables. They replied, but what they said Jean did not
know. She could only hope.

"No kill slashers, eh?" Sam queried, turning to the girl.

"Please don't. Drive them away; frighten them, but do not kill them."

"Sam no say now. See bimeby, mebbe."

To Jean Sam was the very embodiment of good nature and gentle care.
And she had good reason for this high regard. But as a great bear has
been known to bestow a remarkable affection upon a lost child,
notwithstanding its savage nature, so it was with Sam. Could Jean have
seen him that night as he led his score of followers against the
slashers she would not have believed him to be the same Indian who had
been so kind to her. The wild nature within him was aroused. He was
on the warpath against a hated enemy. As he glided through the forest,
his eyes glowed like living coals of fire, and his great body quivered
with excitement. His companions, too, were intensely stirred. The
slashers were against King George, and that was all-sufficient. Like
weird spectres they moved through the night. Not a word did they
speak, and not a twig snapped as their moccasined feet pressed the
ground. Never did a girl have a more deter