en, some walking about
and others at the huge sweeps with which it was controlled. And--yes,
there was a woman and a child, too; a little girl with long, yellow curls,
who played on the rude deck. Paul put his hand to his face, and it came
back wet.

Then he remembered, and his heart leaped up. The river was a mile wide,
and the boat was keeping near the middle of the stream. No bullet from the
savages could reach it. Then what was the use of this ambush? It had
merely been a chance hope of the savages that the boat would come near
enough for them to fire into it, but instead it would go steadily on! Paul
looked exultantly at the two warriors beside him, but they were intently
watching the boat, which would soon be opposite them.

Then a ghastly and horrible thing occurred. A white face suddenly appeared
upon the shore in front of Paul--the face of a white youth whom he knew.
The figure was in rags, the clothing torn and tattered by thorns and
bushes, and the hair hung in wild locks about the white face. Face and
figure alike were the picture of desolation and despair.

The white youth staggered to the very edge of the water, and, lifting up
a tremulous, weeping voice, cried out to those on the boat:

"Save me! Save me! In God's name, save me! Don't leave me here to starve
in these dark woods!"

It was a sight to move all on the boat who saw and heard--this spectacle
of the worn wanderer, alone in that vast wilderness, appealing to
unexpected rescue. Fear, agony, and despair alike were expressed in the
tones of Braxton Wyatt's voice, which carried far over the yellow stream
and was heard distinctly by the emigrants. To hear was also to heed, and
the great flatboat, coming about awkwardly and sluggishly, turned her
square prow toward the southern shore, where the refugee stood.

Braxton Wyatt never ceased to cry out for help. His voice now ran the
gamut of entreaty, hope, despair, and then hope again. He called upon them
by all sacred names to help him, and he also called down blessings upon
them as the big boat bore steadily toward the land where two score fierce
savages lay among the bushes, ready to slay the moment they came within
reach.

Paul was dazed at first by what he saw and heard. He could not believe
that it was Braxton Wyatt who was doing this terrible and treacherous
thing. He rubbed away what he thought might be a deceptive film before
his eyes, but it was still Braxton Wyatt. It was the face of the