ai?"

As he spoke, the Indian pointed to the rude device that, tattooed in
blue lines, had ornamented Donald Hester's left arm, just below the
shoulder, ever since he was an infant.

Instead of answering this question, the young man replied scornfully:--

"So you can speak English, can you, you red scoundrel? And you call me
'Quickeye' because I caught you peering from the bushes at the Devil's
Hole, do you? Yes, I am quick-eyed enough to read every thought in
your black heart. Do I not know that you came in the canoe with the
white medicine man from Oswego? Do I not know that you listened
outside the open window of the mess-room at Fort Niagara, while the
white chiefs talked at night? Do I not know that you painted your
face, with the thought that the white man was a fool and would no
longer recognize you? Then you came in this canoe that you might make
it go slow, like a swan whose wing is broken by the hunter. Do not I
know all this as well as all the things you have done, and thought of
doing? You are a fool! The Metai know everything. Bah! If I had not
use for you, I would strike you dead. But I need your strength, and so
long as you serve me truly you shall live. Go, and be ready to start
ere the sun rises from yonder water."

With this the young man turned on his heel, while the humbled savage
slunk away, cringing as though he had felt the lashing of whips. From
that moment there was no further trouble, and the canoe of the white
men was sped on its journey at a pace to satisfy even their impatience.

CHAPTER XVII

A BRAVE GIRL CAPTIVE

For two weeks after leaving the Niagara river Cuyler's boat brigade
made its way slowly but steadily westward, along the northern,
forest-covered shore of Lake Erie. Except for an occasional day of
rain, when the expedition remained comfortably in camp, the weather was
perfect, and nothing occurred to disturb the peace or enjoyment of the
long voyage. Its only drawback lay in the monotony of water and
forest, unrelieved by a sign of human presence, that constantly
surrounded them.

As one of the last days of May drew toward its perfect close, two of
the occupants of the leading boat reclined beneath a small awning and
watched in silence the western splendor of the waning day,--that
wonderful spectacle which is never twice the same and whose
incomparable glories never grow stale by repetition. The elder of the
two was Madam Rothsay, whose placid fac