distinguish the features of the canoe’s occupant, who was met with a tender welcome at the hands of the young scout.

But the sun had entirely set, and the couple formed dark silhouettes on a ghostly background.

For many minutes the conversation continued at the boat, and the impatient Wolf Cap at last began to creep forward as if upon a napping foe.

“I want to get a glimpse at that girl,” he was saying to his eager self. “If I think she is soft soapin’ the young feller, why, this shall be their last meetin’.”

The young couple did not suspect the scout’s movements, and as he crouched not twenty feet from the boat and within ear shot, he was surprised to hear Catlett say:

“I’ll let you go when I have shown you to my friend. He wants to see you. Come, girl.”

Wolf Cap saw a lithe, girlish figure slip nimbly from the canoe, and when the youth turned his face toward the forest, as if to speak his name, he rose.

“Here I am,” he said. “Forgive me, boy, but I’ve been watchin’ you. Couldn’t help it, as you talked so long. So this is Little Moccasin?”

As the border man uttered the euphonious title he stooped, for he was almost unnaturally tall, and peered inquisitively into the girl’s face.

It was a pretty face, oval and faultlessly formed. The skin was not so dark as a warrior’s, and the eyes were soft and full of depth. Wolf Cap did not study the close-fitting garments, well beaded and fringed, nor did he glance at the tiny, almost fairy-like moccasins which she wore.

It was the face that enchained his attention.

All at once his hand fell from Little Moccasin’s shoulder, and he started back, saying in a wild, incautious tone:

“Take that girl away, Harvey! For heaven’s sake don’t let her cross my path again! And if you know what is good for yourself—for Wayne and his army—you will keep out of her sight. Is she not goin’?”

The excited scout stepped forward with quivering nerves as he uttered the last words.

“Yes, sir,” said the youth quickly, but throwing himself between the forest beauty and Wolf Cap. “She is going now.”

“And will you promise never to see her again?”

“We’ll talk about that at another time. Come.”

The last word was addressed to Little Moccasin, upon whose face an expression of wonderment rested, and Harvey Catlett led her to the canoe.

For several minutes he held her hand, talking low and earnestly the while, and then saw her send her light craft into the deep shadows that hung over the water.

When the sound of her paddles had died away the young scout turned to inquire into Wolf Cap’s unaccountable conduct; but to his surprise the rough borderman was not to be seen.

But Harvey Catlett was not long in catching the sound of receding footsteps, and a moment later he was hurrying forward to overtake his companion.

He soon came upon Wolf Cap walking deliberately through the forest, and hastened to address him.

“Here you are! Wolf Cap, I want to know who Little Moccasin is.”

The borderman did not stop to reply, but looked over his left shoulder and said, sullenly:

“I don’t know! Do you?”

Harvey Catlett was more than ever astonished; but a moment later, if it had not been for the dangerous ground which they were treading, he would have burst into a laugh.

CHAPTER II.

AN ERRAND OF MERCY.

Abner Stark, or Wolf Cap, was a man well known throughout Ohio and Kentucky in the border days of which we write. Moody and sullen, but at times possessed with a humor that seemed to reflect happier days; he was cherished as a friend by the Wetzels, Boones, and Kentons of the early west.

He had served as a scout under Harmar, St. Clair and Scott, and was among the first to offer his valuable services to General Wayne.

It is needless to say that they were eagerly accepted, and in the campaign of 1793 that witnessed the erection of forts Recovery and Defiance, he had proved of great worth to the invaders.

Ten years prior to the date of our story the Shawnees, led by James Girty, crossed the Ohio and fell like a pack of wolves upon Abner Stark’s Kentucky home.

The settler, as we have already heard him narrate to young Catlett, was absent at the time, but returned to find his house in ashes, and the butchered remains of his family among the ruins. He believed that all had perished by the tomahawk and scalping knife.

By the hatchet buried in the tree which was wont to shade his home, he recognized the leader of the murderous band. From the awful sight he stepped upon the path of vengeance, and made his name a terror to the Indians and their white allies.

His companion on the occasion described in the foregoing chapter, was a young borderman who had distinguished himself in the unfortunate campaign of ’91. Handsome, cunning in woodcraft, and courageous to no small degree, an expert swimmer and runner, Harvey Catlett united in himself all the qualities requisite for the success of his calling. He was trusted by Wayne, from whose camps he came and went at his pleasure, questioned by no one, save at times, his friend Wolf Cap.

We have said that the singular reply given by Wolf Cap to the young scout shortly after the meeting with Little Moccasin almost provoked a laugh. The situation smacked of the ridiculous to the youthful borderer, and the time and place alone prevented him from indulging his risibles.

But when he looked into the old scout’s face and saw no humor there—saw nothing save an unreadable countenance, his mirth subsided, and he became serious again.

“We will not follow the subject further now,” he said; “I want to talk about something else—about something which I heard to-night.”

His tone impressed Abner Stark, and he came to a halt.

“Well, go on, boy,” he said, his hard countenance relaxing. “If you did get any news out of her, tell it.”

“The lives of some of our people are in danger,” Catlett continued. “Several days since a family named Merriweather embarked upon the Maumee near its mouth. Their destination is Wayne’s camp; they are flying to it for protection.”

“Straight into the jaws of death!”

“Yes, Wolf Cap. If they have not already fallen a prey to the savages, they are struggling through the woods with their boats, which could not stem the rapids.”

“How many people are in the company?” Stark asked.

“Little Moccasin says eight.”

“Women and children, of course?”

“Yes.”

“And is this known by the Indians?”

“Unfortunately it is.”

For a moment the avenger did not reply.

He appeared to be forming a plan for the safety of the imperilled family, and the young scout watched him with much anxiety.

“I don’t know the Merriweathers; never heard of them,” Wolf Cap said, looking up at last. “They are in great danger. There are women and children among them. I had a family once. We must not desert the little band that is trying to get behind Mad Anthony’s bayonets. God forbid that Abner Stark should refuse to protect the helpless from the tomahawk.”

“And here is one who is with you!” cried Harvey Catlett. “Let us go now.”

“Yes. We must not see Wayne before we have offered help to the Merriweathers. Are we not near the tree?”

“Nearer than you think. Look yonder.”

The speaker pointed to a tree whose great trunk was just discernible, and the twain hastened toward it.

About six feet from the ground there was a hole large enough to admit a medium sized hand, and Wolf Cap was not long in plunging his own into its recesses.

He withdrew it a moment later with a show of disappointment.

“Nothin’ from Wells and the same from Hummingbird,” he said, turning to Catlett.