uld be unable to cross if he waited any longer, and he,
therefore, attempted it at once. He found it muddy and rapidly rising,
but he carried Edith over without difficulty, and then resumed his
journey, taking such a direction that he could only reach the
settlement by a wide _detour_ from directness.

"At any rate," said Dernor, "if any one attempted to follow us
yesterday, he is thrown off the track, and has got to commence again."

"Should they accidentally come across our trail, it would be easy
enough for them to follow it, would it not?"

"Yes, any one could do that, but you see we're so far up the stream
that there is little likelihood of that."

"I _do_ hope the Indians will not trouble us more," said Edith, in a
low, earnest voice.

"And so do I," said the Rifleman, in a lower and more earnest voice,
and venturing at the same time to press the hand that he held within
his own.

There certainly was something in the situation of these two calculated
to inspire mutual trust. Edith felt that, under the merciful Being who
was ever watching her, there was no stronger or more faithful arm upon
which she could rely than the one beside her--that there was no heart
truer, and no devotion more trustworthy. Under these circumstances, her
words were quite unembarrassed and familiar.

"Suppose we _are_ overtaken?" she asked, looking up in his face.

"_You_ will never be captured while _I_ have strength to defend you,"
was the fervent reply.

"You are too kind and noble."

This time Edith impulsively pressed his hand, and, to his dying day,
Lewis Dernor affirmed that this was one of the happiest moments of his
life. Deeply learned as he was in wood-lore, he was a perfect novice in
the subtle mysteries of the tender passion, and the cause of his
ecstasy on this occasion was the sudden certainty that his love was
returned. Had he been less a novice in such matters, he would have
reflected that this slight evidence of regard most probably was but a
mere momentary emotion which any man in his situation might have
inspired. But, "where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise;" and
the happy hunter was all unconscious of this disagreeable possibility.

He felt an unutterable desire to say something--something grand and
terrible--which would give Edith a faint idea of the strength of the
passion burning in his breast. Inability to say this something kept him
silent for a long period. Several times, indeed, he was on t