ong, an' fust off I said 'No.' But when I seen
tears in her blue eyes, an' she puts her little hand on mine, I jest
wilted, an' says to Jim Blair, 'She goes.' Wal, jest as might hev
been expected--an' fact is I looked fer it--we wus tackled by
redskins. Somehow, Jim Girty got wind of us hevin' a lass aboard,
an' he ketched up with us jest below here. It's a bad place, called
Shawnee Rock, an' I'll show it to ye termorrer. The renegade, with
his red devils, attacked us thar, an' we had a time gittin' away.
Milly wus shot. She lived fer awhile, a couple of days, an' all the
time wus so patient, an' sweet, an' brave with thet renegade's
bullet in her--fer he shot her when he seen he couldn't capture
her--thet thar wusn't a blame man of us who wouldn't hev died to
grant her prayer, which wus that she could live to onct more see her
lover."

There was a long silence, during which the old frontiersman sat
gazing into the fire with sad eyes.

"We couldn't do nuthin', an' we buried her thar under thet birch,
where she smiled her last sad, sweet smile, an' died. Ever since
then the river has been eatn' away at this island. It's only half as
big as it wus onct, an' another flood will take away this sand-bar,
these few birches--an' Milly's grave."

The old frontiersman's story affected all his listeners. The elder
minister bowed his head and prayed that no such fate might overtake
his nieces. The young minister looked again, as he had many times
that day, at Nell's winsome face. The girls cast grave glances at
the drooping birch, and their bright tears glistened in the
fire-glow. Once more Joe's eyes glinted with that steely flash, and
as he gazed out over the wide, darkening expanse of water his face
grew cold and rigid.

"I'll allow I might hev told a more cheerful story, an' I'll do so
next time; but I wanted ye all, particular the lasses, to know
somethin' of the kind of country ye're goin' into. The frontier
needs women; but jist yit it deals hard with them. An' Jim Girty,
with more of his kind, ain't dead yit."

"Why don't some one kill him?" was Joe's sharp question.

"Easier said than done, lad. Jim Girty is a white traitor, but he's
a cunnin' an' fierce redskin in his ways an' life. He knows the
woods as a crow does, an' keeps outer sight 'cept when he's least
expected. Then ag'in, he's got Simon Girty, his brother, an' almost
the whole redskin tribe behind him. Injuns stick close to a white
man that has turned a