ed? She had seen no sign of a wild animal, and
surely the child could not be lost in that brief while!

She must give an alarm. She ran now until she was out of breath, then
she had to pause until she could run again. She reached the farms. They
were mostly all long strips of land with the houses in reach of the
stockade for safety.

"Andre Helmuth," she cried, "I have lost the child, Jeanne. Give an
alarm." Then she sank down half senseless.

Dame Helmuth ran out from the fish she was cooking for supper. "What is
it?" she cried. "And who is this?" pointing to the prostrate figure.

"Jeanne Angelot's Pani. And Jeanne, she says, is lost. It must be in the
woods. But she knows them so well."

"She was ever a wild thing," declared the dame. "But a night in the
woods alone is not such a pleasant pastime, with panthers, and bears
have been seen. And there may be savages prowling about. Yes, Andre,
give the alarm and I will look after the poor creature. She has always
been faithful to the child."

By the time the dame had restored her, the news had spread. It reached
Wenonah presently, who hastened to the Helmuths'. Pani sat bewildered,
and the Indian woman, by skillful questioning, finally drew the story
from her.

"I think it is a band of roving Indians," she said. "I am glad now that
Paspah is at home. He is a good guide. But we must send in town and get
a company."

"Yes, yes, that is the thing to do. A few soldiers with arms. One cannot
tell how many of the Indians there may be. I will go at once," and Andre
Helmuth set off on a clumsy trot.

"And the savory fish that he is so fond of, getting spoiled. But what
is that to the child's danger? Children, come and have your suppers."

They wanted to linger about Pani, but the throng kept increasing.
Wenonah warded off troublesome questions and detailed the story to
newcomers. The dame brought her a cup of tea with a little brandy in it,
and then waited what seemed an interminable while.

The alarm spread through the garrison, and a searching party was ordered
out equipped with lanterns and well armed. At its head was Jeanne's
admirer, the young lieutenant.

Tony Helmuth had finished his supper.

"Let me go with them," he pleaded. "I know every inch of the way. I have
been up and down the creek a hundred times."

Pani rose. "I must go, too," she said, weakly, but she dropped back on
the seat.

"Thou wilt come home with me," began Wenonah, with gentle
persu