h a tread as light as a moccasined
foot could make, stepped softly to the side of the Lad and taking him by
the arm--while the company rose as one man--motioned to Henry with his
hand, and then, without a word, the Trapper and Herbert and "The Man Who
Didn't Know Much" passed out of the room, and taking boat, shoved off
and glided from sight in the blue darkness of the overhanging night,
amid whose eastern gloom the great, luminous, mellow-hearted stars of
the morning were already aflame.

[Illustration: Tail piece]

Who Was He?

I

[Illustration: Vignette Initial AT]

At the head of a stretch of swiftly running water the river widened into
a broad and deep pool. From the western bank a huge ledge of rock sloped
downward and outward into the water. On it stood the trapper, John
Norton, with a look of both expectation and anxiety on his face. For a
moment he lifted his troubled eyes and gazed steadily through the
tree-tops; and as his eyes fell to the level of the river, while the
look of anxiety deepened on his countenance, he said:

"Yis, the wind has changed and the fire be comin' this way; and ef it
gits into the balsam thickets this side of the mountain and the wind
holds where it is, a buck in full jump could hardly outrun it. Yis, the
smoke thickens; ef I didn't know that the boy would act with jedgment,
and that he's onusually sarcumspect, I would sartinly feel worried about
him. I hope he won't do anything resky for the sake of the pups. Ef he
can't git 'em, he can't; and I trust he won't resk the life of a man for
a couple of dogs."

With these words the trapper relapsed into silence. But every minute
added to his anxiety, for the smoke thickened in the air and even a few
cinders began to pass him as they were blown onward with the smoke by
the wind.

"The fire is comin' down the river," he said, "and the boy has it behind
him. Lord-a-massy! hear it roar! I know the boy is comin', for I never
knowed him to do a foolish thing in the woods; and it would be downright
madness for him to stay in the shanty, or even go to the shanty, ef the
fire had struck the balsam thicket afore he made the landin'. Lord, ef
an oar-blade should break,--but it won't break. The Lord of marcy won't
let an oar that the boy is handlin' break, when the fire is racin'
behind him, and he's comin' back from an arrand of marcy. I never seed
a man desarted in a time like"--

A report of a rifle rang out quick and sharp t