t coals. He stood perfectly rigid before the table
while the Major held a stick of sealing-wax to the hot iron, and
allowed a few drops to fall upon the back of the folded letter. When
the Major had pressed his signet ring upon the wax, the task was
finished, the soldier saluted and left the room. After the Major had
addressed the letter, and sprinkled it until the ink was dry, he handed
it to the courier.

"Take this to Davidson," he ordered. "I am glad that I have met you,
young man, and I hope to hear from you again."

Dane took the letter, placed it carefully in an inside pocket of his
jacket, bade the two men good morning, and at once left the room.

"What do you think of him?" the Major asked turning toward the trader.

"A remarkable young man," was the emphatic reply. "But I am surprised
that I have not heard of him before."

"It is strange. But look here, Mr. Simonds," and the Major brought his
fist down heavily upon the table, "if I had a regiment of men like that
courier to send to Davidson, we would have no more trouble with the
slashers and other rebels."

"You're about right, Major. But I'm wondering why he refused to tell
us the name of that ringleader. I must get White to work at this. He
may be able to find out, for he can do more with the Indians than
anybody else."

"I wish you would look carefully into this matter," the Major replied.
"If we can round up that ringleader, it may put a sudden stop to the
whole trouble. I shall send half of my men to capture him if he can be
found."

CHAPTER VI

WHEN THE BOW-STRING TWANGED

The little schooner _Polly_, of twenty tons burden, had come on the
flood tide up through the Reversible Falls. She had then slipped out
of the Narrows where the grey, weather-beaten limestone rocks frown
high on both sides, and was clipping merrily across the big basin of
Grand Bay straight for Beaubear's River. She was well loaded, for over
a dozen families were on board, with their household effects, together
with a large supply of boards and shingles. In addition, there were
the guns which Major Studholme was sending up river to William
Davidson, the King's purveyor.

It was a beautiful early June day, and as Jean Sterling stood close at
the bow she thought that she had never beheld a more perfect sight.
Everywhere she looked great sweeping forests were to be seen crowding
to the very water's edge. She breathed a deep sigh of relief, for she
was