been fleeing. Her pale face was lowered,
her hands clenched tightly in the folds of her skirt.

Never before had two such coarse, cruel fiends as Deering and Girty
encumbered the earth. Even on the border, where the best men were
bad, they were the worst. Deering was yet drunk, but Girty had
recovered somewhat from the effects of the rum he had absorbed. The
former rolled his big eyes and nodded his shaggy head. He was
passing judgment, from his point of view, on the fine points of the
girl.

"She cer'aintly is," he declared with a grin. "She's a little
beauty. Beats any I ever seen!"

Jim Girty stroked his sharp chin with dirty fingers. His yellow
eyes, his burnt saffron skin, his hooked nose, his thin lips--all
his evil face seemed to shine with an evil triumph. To look at him
was painful. To have him gaze at her was enough to drive any woman
mad.

Dark stains spotted the bright frills of his gaudy dress, his
buckskin coat and leggins, and dotted his white eagle plumes. Dark
stains, horribly suggestive, covered him from head to foot. Blood
stains! The innocent blood of Christians crimsoned his renegade's
body, and every dark red blotch cried murder.

"Girl, I burned the Village of Peace to git you," growled Girty.
"Come here!"

With a rude grasp that tore open her dress, exposing her beautiful
white shoulder and bosom, the ruffian pulled her toward him. His
face was transfixed with a fierce joy, a brutal passion.

Deering looked on with a drunken grin, while his renegade friend
hugged the almost dying girl. The Indians paced the glade with short
strides like leashed tigers. The young missionary lay on the moss
with closed eyes. He could not endure the sight of Nell in Girty's
arms.

No one noticed Wingenund. He stood back a little, half screened by
drooping branches. Once again the chief's dark eyes gleamed, his
head turned a trifle aside, and, standing in the statuesque position
habitual with him when resting, he listened, as one who hears
mysterious sounds. Suddenly his keen glance was riveted on the ferns
above the low cliff. He had seen their graceful heads quivering.
Then two blinding sheets of flame burst from the ferns.

Spang! Spang!

The two rifle reports thundered through the glade. Two Indians
staggered and fell in their tracks--dead without a cry.

A huge yellow body, spread out like a panther in his spring,
descended with a crash upon Deering and Girty. The girl fell away
from the renega