nted in the direction of the
lick where Jonas Harding had been killed. Nuck understood. "I'll go with
you. Will you come across and eat supper with us?"

But the Indian shook his head vigorously. "Will eat yonder. Have meat.
Harding get rifle and blanket. Will make fire."

He turned about instantly and plunged into the forest. Enoch was
astonished by his manner and words, familiar as he was with the
peculiarities of the red race. Crow Wing had never refused to eat with
them before; he had always seemed to enjoy the "white squaw's" cooking.
But Enoch had no fear that his one-time enemy was playing him a trick.
He paddled across the creek for his blanket, told his mother that he was
going on a torchlight hunt, with whom he was going, and without further
explanation returned to follow his red friend. He had noted the
direction the young brave had taken. The way led directly to that little
glade where, nearly four years before, he had spied upon Simon Halpen,
the Yorker, and Crow Wing had driven him so ignominiously home. There
was a fire here now, but the Indian was alone.

An appetizing odor of broiling flesh greeted the white youth, for it was
already growing dark in the forest and Crow Wing was preparing supper.
Enoch did not open the conversation, but busied himself with making a
couple of bark platters out of which they might eat the meat when it was
cooked. He was anxious enough to broach the subject uppermost in his
mind; but he knew Crow Wing better than to do that. Anxiety, or
curiosity, were emotions which only squaws gave way to, and Enoch would
not exhibit his feelings and so disgust his red brother.

Crow Wing was evidently a man of importance in his tribe now, and his
gravity was far beyond his years. While they ate Enoch asked a question
or two about his people, and if the decimated tribe, which had never
recovered numerically from a scourge of smallpox, still resided near
Lake George. He learned then that the Indians had struck their lodges
and were journeying toward the northern wilderness. The old chief, Crow
Wing's father, was dead, and the youth himself aspired to be the leader
of his people. From a word or two he let drop and from his manner of
speaking, Enoch judged that the older men of the tribe had some doubt of
Crow Wing's ability to govern the braves; but evidently the youth had
strong hopes of gaining their confidence--and that by some act in the
near future. What his plan for advancement was