r any
reason, much less a worthless pale face; and yet to let the prisoner
go galled the haughty spirit of the Seneca chief.

"The Long Knife is not worth the life of one of my dogs," he said,
with scorn in his deep voice. "If Cornplanter willed he could drive
the Hurons before him like leaves before the storm. Let Myeerah take
the pale face back to her wigwam and there feed him and make a squaw
of him. When he stings like a snake in the grass remember the
chief's words. Cornplanter turns on his heel from the Huron maiden
who forgets her blood."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When the sun reached its zenith it shone down upon a long line of
mounted Indians riding single file along the narrow trail and like a
huge serpent winding through the forest and over the plain.

They were Wyandot Indians, and Isaac Zane rode among them. Freed
from the terrible fate which had menaced him, and knowing that he
was once more on his way to the Huron encampment, he had accepted
his destiny and quarreled no more with fate. He was thankful beyond
all words for his rescue from the stake.

Coming to a clear, rapid stream, the warriors dismounted and rested
while their horses drank thirstily of the cool water. An Indian
touched Isaac on the arm and silently pointed toward the huge maple
tree under which Thundercloud and Myeerah were sitting. Isaac turned
his horse and rode the short distance intervening. When he got near
he saw that Myeerah stood with one arm over her pony's neck. She
raised eyes that were weary and sad, which yet held a lofty and
noble resolve.

"White Eagle, this stream leads straight to the Fort on the river,"
she said briefly, almost coldly. "Follow it, and when the sun
reaches the top of yonder hill you will be with your people. Go, you
are free."

She turned her face away. Isaac's head whirled in his amazement. He
could not believe his ears. He looked closely at her and saw that
though her face was calm her throat swelled, and the hand which lay
over the neck of her pony clenched the bridle in a fierce grasp.
Isaac glanced at Thundercloud and the other Indians near by. They
sat unconcerned with the invariable unreadable expression.

"Myeerah, what do you mean?" asked Isaac.

"The words of Cornplanter cut deep into the heart of Myeerah," she
answered bitterly. "They were true. The Eagle does not care for
Myeerah. She shall no longer keep him in a cage. He is free to fly
away."

"The Eagle does