immediately ran to the camp and called Matthew who was just rolling
away the blankets in which they had slept.

"Look, what I have found!" he said to the boy. "It's an Indian arrow!"

"Where was it?" Matthew asked.

"It was driven tightly into a tree, right next to where the Indian guide
slept."

"And where is the guide?" Matthew asked, growing pale.

"I don't know," said Fred while his lips trembled.

"Let us look for him," Matthew suggested.

"No, let us go back to the camp, and get ready to leave," said Agnes.
"This looks dangerous to me. Something is wrong."

The children had traveled for six days without having been molested by
any one. It was late in August, and all nature seemed bathed in peace.
They had not met a single Indian, but found the villages deserted. This
had somewhat surprised them, yet as nothing happened, they had not
attached to it any importance.

Only the guide had been suspicious. He was a Mohican, and a man of
middle age, who was well acquainted with the ways of the Pequots whom
he hated thoroughly.

The old Indian servant who had attended to the horses had observed
nothing, and he was greatly surprised when he was informed that the
guide was missing.

"I will look for him," he said.

"No, you quickly pack the horses and get things in readiness, while
Agnes and I will look for the guide. Matthew, you saddle the horses."

"Come, sister," Fred said, "let us investigate this mystery. Perhaps
the guide has only gone after a rabbit, wishing to prepare us a dainty
surprise for breakfast."

But Agnes shook her head. "It is not a Mohican arrow, but a Pequot
one," she said. "It was driven into the tree by a warbow. See, how
deeply it entered the tree! And how strong the flint is and how well
preserved, in spite of its being driven into the hard wood. That arrow
was sent to kill a man."

"We must not paint the devil on the wall," Fred said cheerfully; but
suddenly he became pale, for at his feet the grass was crushed down,
and two forms were lying on the ground covered with blood.

One was that of the guide, whose hand gripped the throat of his foe, a
large and burly Pequot Indian.

The Pequot was dead, choked by the steel clasp of his enemy's hand.
All around, the grass was trodden down, and the ground showed what a
fierce struggle had been carried on in silence, while the rest slept in
peace.

Suddenly Agnes bent over the form of the Mohican and pointed to a knife