age hearts were filled with bitterness that a lone
fugitive should taunt them so. His footsteps were those of the white
man, but his wile and cunning were those of the red, and curiosity was
added to the other motives that drew them on.

At the coming of the twilight one of their best warriors who pursued at
some distance from the main band was slain by a rifle shot from the
bushes, then came that defiant war cry again, faint, but full of irony
and challenge, and then the trail grew cold before them. He whom they
pursued was going now with a speed that none of them could equal, and
the darkness itself, thick and heavy, soon covered all sign of his
flight.

Henry Ware's expectations of joy had been fulfilled and more; it was the
keenest delight that had yet come into his life. At all times he had
been master of the situation, and as he drew them southward, he
fulfilled his duty at the same time and enjoyed his sport. Everything
had fallen out as he planned, and now, with the night at hand, he shook
them off.

Through the day he had eaten dried venison from his pouch, as he ran,
and he felt no need to stop for food. So, he did not cease the flight
until after midnight when he lay down again in a thicket and slept
soundly until daylight. He rose again, refreshed, and faster than ever
sped on his swift way toward Wareville.

CHAPTER XIV

THE RETURN

Wareville lay in its pleasant valley, rejoicing in the young spring, so
kind with its warm rains that the men of the village foresaw a great
season for crops. The little river flowed in a silver current, smoke
rose from many chimneys, and now and then the red homemade linsey dress
of a girl gleamed in the sunlight like the feathers of the scarlet
tanager. To the left were the fields cleared for Indian corn, and to the
right were the gardens. Beyond both were the hills and the unbroken
forest.

Now and then a man, carrying on his shoulder the inevitable Kentucky
rifle, long and slender-barreled, passed through the palisade, but the
cardinal note of the scene was peace and cheerfulness. The town was
prospering, its future no longer belonged to chance; there would be
plenty, of the kind that they liked.

In the Ware house was a silent sadness, silent because these were stern
people, living in a stern time, and it was the custom to hide one's
griefs. The oldest son was gone; whether he had perished nobody knew,
nor, if he had perished, how.

John Ware was not an