ed his tact by asking no questions of Wa-on-mon. Nor
did he essay to thank him for his unexpected clemency. He did not so
much as speak to or look at him.

"Come, my child," he said tenderly, extending his hand to Mabel, "I am
going to take you to papa and mamma."

"Oh, I am so glad!" exclaimed the happy one, slipping her hand into the
palm of the missionary.

The warriors standing around and seeing all this must have had their
share, too, of strange emotions, for the experience was without a
parallel with them.

Had the chieftain been any one except The Panther, something in the
nature of a revolt would have been probable; but no one dared gainsay
that fearful leader, who, like Philip, chief of the Wampanoags, had
mortally smitten the warrior that dared to suggest an opposite policy to
that already determined by the sachem.

[Illustration: THE MISSIONARY'S TRIUMPH.]

There were looks, but nothing more, as the man, holding the hand of the
child, walked out of the camp, without any appearance of haste or
fright, and disappeared among the trees.

With a heart swelling with gratitude to God for the wonderful outcome of
the strange complication, the good man picked his way through the
forest, still holding the trusting hand within his own, and comforting
her by promises that she should soon see her father and mother and
brother, who were awaiting her coming on the other side of the river.
Like every other member of the company, she was a-hungered, but there
could be no guarantee that she, like them, would not have to remain so
for hours to come.

When the missionary reached the river side, to recross in his canoe, he
found Kenton awaiting him, paddle in hand. The two men smiled
significantly as their eyes met. They silently grasped hands, and then
adjusting themselves in the boat, with Mabel between them, pushed for
the other shore.

And as the graceful craft skimmed the smooth surface of the Ohio on that
beautiful summer morning, a hundred years ago, the ranger told his story
of his encounter with Wa-on-mon, chief of the Shawanoes.

"It took the varmint some time to know what I meant, when I said he
could go; he wouldn't take the life I offered him at first, but said it
belonged to me, and not to him. That bein' so," added Kenton, with a
grin, "I told him as how I could do as I chose with it, as I throwed it
from me."

"It was a surprise to him, indeed," remarked Finley.

"Wal, I should say powerful somewha