heard just outside the doorway. In
another moment Mr Whyte fell heavily to the ground, shot through the
heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

THE CHASE--THE FIGHT--RETRIBUTION--LOW SPIRITS AND GOOD NEWS.

The tragical end of the consultation related in the last chapter had the
effect of immediately reconciling the disputants. With the exception of
four or five of the most depraved and discontented among them, the
Indians bore no particular ill-will to the unfortunate principal of
Stoney Creek; and although a good deal disappointed to find that he was
a stern, unyielding trader, they had, in reality, no intention of coming
to a serious rupture with him, much less of laying violent hands either
upon master or men of the establishment.

When, therefore, they beheld Mr Whyte weltering in his blood at their
feet, a sacrifice to the ungovernable passion of Misconna, who was by no
means a favourite among his brethren, their temporary anger was
instantly dissipated, and a feeling of deepest indignation roused in
their bosoms against the miserable assassin who had perpetrated the base
and cowardly murder. It was, therefore, with a yell of rage that
several of the band, immediately after the victim fell, sprang into the
woods in hot pursuit of him whom they now counted their enemy. They
were joined by several men belonging to the fort, who had hastened to
the scene of action on hearing that the people in the hall were likely
to come to blows. Redfeather was the first who had bounded like a deer
into the woods in pursuit of the fugitive. Those who remained assisted
Charley and his friends to convey the body of Mr Whyte into an
adjoining room, where they placed him on a bed. He was quite dead, the
murderer's aim having been terribly true.

Finding that he was past all human aid, the young men returned to the
hall, which they entered just as Redfeather glided quickly through the
open doorway, and approaching the group, stood in silence beside them,
with his arms folded on his breast.

"You have something to tell, Redfeather," said Jacques, in a subdued
tone, after regarding him a few seconds; "is the scoundrel caught?"

"Misconna's foot is swift," replied the Indian, "and the wood is thick.
It is wasting time to follow him through the bushes."

"What would you advise, then?" exclaimed Charley, in a hurried voice.
"I see that you have some plan to propose."

"The wood is thick," answered Redfeather, "but the lake and th