ollowed
and continually menaced them. Its cry was heard from one side and then
from the other. Colonel Alloway, a brave man, though choleric and cruel,
was exasperated beyond endurance. He raged and swore as they marched
through the dark thickets, the Indians moving lightly and surely, while
he often stumbled. He insisted at last that they stop and take action.

"Do you think this is a real owl following us?" he said to Wyatt, whom
he invariably used as an interpreter.

"I think it is Ware, of whom I told you."

"You're as bad in your way as the Indians are in theirs. Why, the fellow
would be superhuman!"

"That would not keep it from being true."

Alloway knew from Wyatt's tone that he meant what he said.

"We must hunt down this forest rover!" he exclaimed. "I can see that he
is striking a heavy blow at the Indians through their superstitions."

"No doubt of that, sir."

"Tell the chiefs for me that we must send out a half dozen trailers
while the rest of us remain here. I'm not as used as you are to midnight
marches in the forest, and every bone in me aches."

Wyatt translated and Yellow Panther and Red Eagle consented. A
half-dozen of the best trailers slipped away in different directions in
the forest, and the rest sat down in a group. They waited a long time
and heard nothing. The owl did not cry, nor did any human shout come
from the haunted depths of the wilderness.

"At least they've driven him away," said Alloway to Cartwright.

"I think so, sir."

Out of the forest, low at first, but swelling on a long triumphant note,
came the solemn voice of the owl. Alloway, despite himself, shuddered.
The sinister cry expressed victory. His own mind, like those of the
Indians, had become attuned to the superstitions and fears bred of
ignorance and the dark. His heart paused, and when it began its work
again the beat was heavy.

A darker blot appeared on the darkness and two warriors, bearing a
third, came through the bushes. The man whom they bore was a
dark-browed, cruel savage who had carried the scalp of a white woman at
his belt. But he would hunt or scalp no more. He had been cloven from
brow to chin with the blow of a tomahawk wielded by an arm mighty like
that of Hercules. Colonel Alloway looked upon the slain savage and
shuddered again.

"Ask them how it happened," he said to Wyatt.

The young renegade, after speaking with the Indians, replied:

"Black Fox, the dead warrior, turned aside to loo