pparent that he had eaten his own supper, for there
were the indications of the meal upon the ground; but it looked as
though he expected some other person to join him. The wind began to moan
in the tree-tops; far away the mournful scream of the catamount broke
the silence again. The boy cast his gaze upward into the branches,
feeling as though one of the terrible creatures, with which he had
engaged in so desperate a struggle that very morning, was even then
watching him from the foliage.

[Illustration: A HAND WAS PRESSED OVER HIS LIPS]

And he was indeed being watched, and by eyes well nigh as keen as those
of the wild-cat. While he stood behind the tree, all of half a gun-shot
from the camp, a figure stepped silently out of the shadows and stood at
his elbow before the startled lad realized that he was not alone. A
vice-like hand seized his arm so that he could not turn his rifle upon
this unexpected enemy. Before he could cry out a second hand was pressed
firmly over his parted lips. "No speak!" breathed a voice in Enoch
Harding's ear. "If speak, white boy die!"

It was Crow Wing, the young Iroquois, and Enoch obeyed. He found himself
forced rapidly away from the campfire and when they were out of ear-shot
of the unconscious stranger, and not until then, did the grasp of the
Indian relax. "What do you want with me?" Enoch demanded, in a whisper.
The other did not reply. He only pushed the white boy on until they came
to the ford of the creek where Enoch and 'Siah Bolderwood had crossed
early in the day. There Crow Wing released him altogether and pointed
sternly across the river. "Your house--that way!" he said. "Go!"

"Who is that man back yonder?" cried Enoch, angrily. "You can't make me
do what you say----"

Crow Wing tapped the handle of the long knife at his belt suggestively.
"White boy go--go now!" he commanded again, and in spite of his being
armed with a rifle while the Indian had no such weapon, Enoch felt
convinced that it would be wiser for him to obey without parley.
Although Crow Wing could not have been three years his senior, he was
certainly the master on this occasion. With lagging step he descended
the bank and began to ford the stream. He glanced back and saw the
Indian, standing like a statue of bronze, on the bank above him. When he
reached the middle of the stream, however, he felt the full ignominy of
his retreat before a foe who was not armed equally with himself. What
would Bolderwood