f moonlight could fall on his figure, as he moved among
the trees. Rejoining the Sauk, they passed down stream.

They had not gone far when they stopped near the edge of the water.
There was none of the band on the open space on which the Pawnee
camp-fire had been kindled a half mile or so above, so they were covered
by all the shelter they could wish.

From the moment of turning their backs for the last time on the Pawnee
who had sought to shoot one of them, the Shawanoe and Sauk had not
spoken a word. They understood each other too well to need conversation;
but, remembering the click of the flint lock and the useless flash of
the powder, they made sure that no chance was given for a second
attempt.

The Pawnee, who understood why he failed to bring down one of them, was
wise enough to withdraw and make his way back to the camp-fire,
pondering on the road the explanation which he would add to the store of
extraordinary narratives related by his comrades, who had been brought
in contact with the young Shawanoe.

The sky was cloudy and the light of the moon treacherous and uncertain.
Sometimes the surface of the swiftly flowing river in front was lighted
up, and the shadowy line of wood on the other shore stood out clear, and
again it seemed to recede, when the face of the moon was obscured.

It was not far to the other bank, and the Indian friends expected to
swim across, as they had done scores of times under similar
circumstances. Fully two hours had passed since they left young Jack
Carleton. During that period not the slightest sign was received from
him, and he might have been dead or a thousand miles distant, for all
that indicated the contrary.

And yet, it is not to be supposed that either the Sauk or Shawanoe felt
any concern for the lad. They had seen no hostiles on that side of the
stream; besides, the experience of Jack ought to have kept him from any
possible harm.

But the understanding was that the three were to come together at
nightfall, or as soon thereafter as possible. Consequently, Jack would
be looking for them.

Deerfoot and Hay-uta stood by the margin of the wood, listening and
looking. The soft murmur of the forest and the ripple of the current, as
it twisted around some gnarled root along shore or struck against the
dipping branch of a tree overhanging the water, were the sounds which
first fell on their ears. But a moment later the wailing scream of a
panther came from the depths of