ave never
seen you before?"

"I live in no special place," Dane replied. "My business as the King's
Arrow takes me everywhere, although this is the first time I have been
sent here."

"How did you come to get that name?"

"Davidson gave it to me. You know, every white pine that is considered
suitable for the King's navy is marked with a broad arrow, I guess that
suggested the idea to Davidson, as I am always darting here and there
like an arrow. Anyway, the name has stuck to me ever since."

"And well that it should," the trader agreed, nodding his head in
approval. "Don't you think so, Major?"

The latter, however, was busily writing, so did not hear the question.
Presently he paused and turned to the courier.

"So you think the Loyalists will be in danger along the river?" he
asked.

"They will, unless the slashers and others who are against the King can
be stopped."

"Who is the ringleader in this rebellion?"

For the first time since entering the room Dane failed to reply. His
bronzed face flushed, and his eyes dropped. This both the Major and
the trader noted, and their curiosity became aroused. They felt that
this courier knew more than he was willing to divulge.

"Are you afraid to tell?" the Major questioned.

Dane suddenly lifted his head, and an angry expression glowed in his
eyes.

"Do you think I am afraid?" he demanded. "Do I look it?"

"Well, no," and the Major slightly smiled. "But why will you not tell
me the name of the ringleader?"

"Because I have a special reason."

"Suppose I make you?"

"Try it."

Although this reply was low and calm, yet the Major had sufficient
knowledge of human nature to know that those two small words meant a
great deal. He truly realised that nothing, not even death, could
force this sturdy courier to divulge the secret against his will. He
wisely dropped the subject, and turned again to the table. Nothing now
was heard in the room but the scratching of the quill across the paper
as the Major fashioned the bold comely letters of his answer to William
Davidson, the King's purveyor. When he had signed his name, he picked
up a small sand-box, and lightly sprinkled the paper. This done, he
rose to his feet, crossed the room, and opened the door.

"Parker, bring me a fire," he ordered.

The soldier thus addressed evidently knew what was needed, for in a few
minutes he entered, bearing in his hands a small iron receptacle
containing a few ho