stantly with him, and the
thought that Jean needed his help drove him forward like the wind.

The short afternoon was waning as he rounded a bend in the stream. To
the left was a small cove, and it was here that one of the trails
overland to the Great Lake and the river beyond began. Dane knew of
the log cabin tucked away among the trees which served as a
resting-place to weary travellers. He had often stopped there, but he
had no intention of doing so now when every minute was so precious.
Keeping straight on his way, he had almost reached the point on the
upper side of the cove, when he came across a well-beaten trail leading
to the cabin. He examined it carefully and with considerable interest.
He knew at once that a large body of men had recently passed that way,
and he wondered who they could be.

Dane's suspicions at once became aroused, for who else but the slashers
would be travelling in a body from the Washademoak? He did not relish
the idea of stopping to investigate, but he knew that this was his duty
as a King's ranger. With a slight exclamation of annoyance, he went
ashore and plunged into the forest in order to come close to the cabin
under cover of the trees. It would not do to follow in on the beaten
trail lest the slashers should be near. He must not be seen by his
old-time enemies, so caution was necessary.

It took him but a short time to come in sight of the cabin, and when a
few rods away he paused and listened. But not a sound could he hear,
so thus emboldened, he stepped up close to the door. The snow around
the building had been beaten down by numerous moccasined feet, and
looking to the right, he saw where the visitors had left the place by
the overland route.

And as he stood there a groan from within the cabin fell upon his ears,
followed by a weak, wailing cry for help. Quickly he pushed open the
door and entered. At first he could see nothing, but as his eyes
became accustomed to the darkness, he detected a form huddled upon the
floor, almost at his feet.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm dying!" was the reply. "Fer God's sake, help me!"

"Who are you, anyway? and what has happened?"

"I'm Bill Botreau, an' the slashers have fixed me. Tom's dead. That's
him jist over there."

Drawing a small candle from his pocket, Dane stepped over to the
fire-place, and lighted it at one of the live coals which still
remained. He was thus enabled to see more clearly, and the sight