k her horse by the bridle and led him, and so got both the riders
outside. They had no tinder, and neither had I; and all of us groped for
the way by which they had come to the bear pen. The young man spurred
his horse in every direction, and turned back unable to get through.

Though we could not see one another I knew that both the adventurers
were young, and that they expected to be called to severe account for
the lawless act they were committing. The girl, talking English, or
French, or Mohawk almost in one breath, took the blame upon herself and
made light of the boy's self-reproaches.

She laughed and said--"My father thinks I am with Miss Chantry, and Miss
Chantry thinks I am with my father. He will blame her for letting me
ride with George Croghan to meet him, and lose the way and so get into
the bear pen. And she will blame my father, and your dearest Annabel
will let the Count de Chaumont and Miss Chantry fight it out. It is not
an affair for youth to meddle with, George."

Having her for interpreter the boy and I consulted. I might have led him
back to our hunting camp, but it was a hard road for a woman and an
impossible one for horses. There was no inhabited house nearer than De
Chaumont's own. He decided they must return to the road by which they
had come into the bear pen, and gladly accepted my offer to go with him;
dismounting and leading Annabel de Chaumont's horse while I led his. We
passed over rotten logs and through black tangles, the girl bending to
her saddle bow, unwearied and full of laughter. It was plain that he
could not find any outlet, and falling behind with the cumbered horse he
let me guide the party.

I do not know by what instinct I felt my way, conscious of slipping
between the wild citizens of that vast town of trees; but we finally
reached a clearing and saw across the open space a lighted cabin. Its
sashless windows and defective chinks were gilded with the yellow light
that comes from a glowing hearth.

"I know this place!" exclaimed Annabel. "It is where the Saint-Michels
used to live before they went to my father's settlement at Le Rayville.
Look at the house! Nobody lives there. It must be full of witches."

Violin music testified that the witches were merry. We halted, and the
horses neighed and were answered by others of their kind.

"George Croghan's grandmother was struck by a witch ball. And here her
grandson stands, too tired to run. But perhaps there aren't any w