ng me.

Fortunately I perched a turkey within two hundred feet of the cabin. I
hung the kettle in the fireplace and built a good fire under it and then
dressed the turkey. For some reason the girl preferred the open to the
cabin and remained outside the door. As I finished my task she called to
me excitedly. Grabbing my rifle, I ran out. She was pointing dramatically
at a big blaze on a mulberry-tree. The scar was fresh, and on it some one
had written with a charred stick:

Found some people killed here. We are gone down this way. Douglass.

"What does it mean?" she whispered, her eyes very big as she stared at the
dusky forest wall.

"That would be James Douglass," I mused. "He came down here with Floyd's
surveying-party last spring. I wonder who was killed."

"Enough to know the Indians have been here," she said, drawing closer to
me. "Can't we go the way they did and be safe?"

"We might make it. But 'gone down this way' means they started for New
Orleans. A long, roundabout journey to Williamsburg."

"Oh, never that! I didn't understand," she cried. "I will be braver. But
if the nearest way home was by the Ohio I would go by land. Anything but
the river! Remember your promise that we are not to be taken alive. Now
let's push on."

"And leave this excellent shelter?" I protested.

"Men have been killed here. I can't abide it. A few miles more--please."

Of course she had her own way, but I made her wait until we had cooked
some corn to a mush and I had broiled the turkey. I could have told her it
would be difficult for us to select any spot along the river which had not
been the scene of a killing. So we took the kettle and left a stout, snug
cabin and pushed on through the darkness to the top of a low ridge, where
I insisted we must camp. We made no fire.

I estimated the day's travel to have been twelve miles at the least, which
was a good stint for a man, let alone a girl unused to the forest. Nor had
the work wearied her unduly. At least she had gained something from her
captivity--a strength to endure physical hardships which she had never
known before. With good luck and half-way decent footing I believed
another sunset would find us at the Big Sandy. That night was cold and I
sorely regretted our lack of blankets.

Before sunrise I had a fire burning and the kettle of mush slung on a
green sapling for further cooking. Patricia was curled up like a kitten,
and I recovered my hunting-shirt and slipp