old
song hummed in his heart, every phrase of it distinct above the tumult
of the storm. Could cold and hunger, swollen streams, ravenous wild
beasts and scalp-hunting savages baffle him? No, there is no barrier
that can hinder love. He said this over and over to himself after his
rencounter with the four Indian scouts on the Wabash. He repeated it
with every heart-beat until he fell in with some friendly red men, who
took him to their camp, where to his great surprise he met M.
Roussillon. It was his song when again he strode off toward the west on
his lonely way.

We need not follow him step by step; the monotony of the woods and
prairies, the cold rains, alternating with northerly winds and blinding
snow, the constant watchfulness necessary to guard against a meeting
with hostile savages, the tiresome tramping, wading and swimming, the
hunger, the broken and wretched sleep in frozen and scant wraps,--why
detail it all?

There was but one beautiful thing about it--the beauty of Alice as she
seemed to walk beside him and hover near him in his dreams. He did not
know that Long-Hair and his band were fast on his track; but the
knowledge could not have urged him to greater haste. He strained every
muscle to its utmost, kept every nerve to the highest tension. Yonder
towards the west was help for Alice; that was all he cared for.

But if Long-Hair was pursuing him with relentless greed for the reward
offered by Hamilton, there were friendly footsteps still nearer behind
him; and one day at high noon, while he was bending over a little fire,
broiling some liberal cuts of venison, a finger tapped him on the
shoulder. He sprang up and grappled Oncle Jazon; at the same time,
standing near by, he saw Simon Kenton, his old-time Kentucky friend.
The pungled features of one and the fine, rugged face of the other swam
as in a mist before Beverley's eyes. Kenton was laughing quietly, his
strong, upright form shaking to the force of his pleasure. He was in
the early prime of a vigorous life, not handsome, but strikingly
attractive by reason of a certain glow in his face and a kindly flash
in his deep-set eyes.

"Well, well, my boy!" he exclaimed, laying his left hand on Beverley's
shoulder, while in the other he held a long, heavy rifle. "I'm glad to
see ye, glad to see ye."

"Thought we was Injuns, eh?" said Oncle Jazon. "An' ef we had 'a' been
we'd 'a' been shore o' your scalp!" The wizzened old creole cackled
gleefully.