ou care if
I never returned?"

She looked up and their eyes met. She had raised her head haughtily,
as if questioning his right to speak to her in that manner, but as
she saw the unspoken appeal in his eyes her own wavered and fell
while a warm color crept into her cheek.

"Yes, I would be sorry," she said, gravely. Then, after a moment:
"You must portage the canoe round the falls, and from there we can
paddle back to the path."

The return trip made, they approached the house. As they turned the
corner they saw Colonel Zane standing at the door talking to Wetzel.

They saw that the Colonel looked pale and distressed, and the face
of the hunter was dark and gloomy.

"Lew, did you get my turkey?" said Betty, after a moment of
hesitation. A nameless fear filled her breast.

For answer Wetzel threw back the flaps of his coat and there at his
belt hung a small tuft of black hair. Betty knew at once it was the
scalp-lock of an Indian. Her face turned white and she placed a hand
on the hunter's arm.

"What do you mean? That is an Indian's scalp. Lew, you look so
strange. Tell me, is it because we went off in the canoe and have
been in danger?"

"Betty, Isaac has been captured again," said the Colonel.

"Oh, no, no, no," cried Betty in agonized tones, and wringing her
hands. Then, excitedly, "Something can be done; you must pursue
them. Oh, Lew, Mr. Clarke, cannot you rescue him? They have not had
time to go far."

"Isaac went to the chestnut grove this morning. If he had stayed
there he would not have been captured. But he went far into the
Black Forest. The turkey call we heard across the creek was made by
a Wyandot concealed in the cave. Lewis tells me that a number of
Indians have camped there for days. He shot the one who was calling
and followed the others until he found where they had taken Isaac's
trail."

Betty turned to the younger man with tearful eyes, and with
beseeching voice implored them to save her brother.

"I am ready to follow you," said Clarke to Wetzel.

The hunter shook his head, but did not answer.

"It is that hateful White Crane," passionately burst out Betty, as
the Colonel's wife led her weeping into the house.

"Did you get more than one shot at them?" asked Clarke.

The hunter nodded, and the slight, inscrutable smile flitted across
his stern features. He never spoke of his deeds. For this reason
many of the thrilling adventures which he must have had will forever
remain unr