since his father's death.

"You were very late in returning, my son," said the widow when the
others had climbed the ladder to the loft.

"Yes, marm."

"You did not come right home?"

"No, marm. I stayed to eat with Lot Breckenridge. And then I wanted to
hear the men talk."

"You should have started earlier for home, Enoch," she said, sternly.

"Well, I'd got here pretty near sunset if it hadn't been for somethin'
that happened just the other side of the crick," Enoch declared,
forgetting the fact that he had stopped to watch the beavers before ever
he saw the campfire in the wood.

"What was it?" she asked.

"There's somebody over there--a tall man, but I couldn't see his
face----"

"Where?"

"Beyond the crick; 'twarn't half a mile from where father was killed at
the deer-lick. I saw a light in the bushes. It was a campfire an' I
couldn't go by without seein' what it was for. So I crept up on it an'
bymeby I saw the man."

"You don't know who he was?" asked the widow, quickly.

"No, marm."

"Did he have a dark face and was his nose hooked?"

"I couldn't see his face. He was sittin' down all the time. His face was
shaded with his cap. He sat with his back up against a tree. I was a
long while gittin' near enough to see him, an' then----"

"Well, what happened, my son?"

"Then that Crow Wing--you know him; the Injin boy that useter live down
the crick with his folks--Crow Wing come out of the forest an' grabbed
me an' told me not to holler or he'd kill me. I wasn't 'zactly 'fraid of
him," added Enoch, thinking some explanation necessary, "but I saw if I
fought him it would bring the man at the fire to help, and I couldn't
fight two of 'em, anyway. The pesky Injin made me walk to the crick with
him an' then he told me to go home and not come back. I wish 'Siah
Bolderwood was here. We'd fix 'em!"

"The Indian threatened you!" cried the widow. "Have you done anything to
anger him, Enoch? I know your father was very bitter toward them all;
but I hoped----"

"I never done a thing to him!" declared the boy. "I don't play with him
much, though Lot does; but I let him alone. I useter make fun of him
b'fore--b'fore 'Siah told me more about his folks. Crow Wing's father is
a good friend to the whites. He fought with our folks ag'in the French
Injins."

"But who could the man have been?" asked the widow, gravely. "The
children saw a man lurking about the corn-field at the lower end to-day.
And when I was