nches. Plainly it was an act of mean
vandalism and Dorothy feared an emblem of deeper threat as well.

Already in the girl's thought this newly planted monument had become a
sacred thing. To let it be so soon destroyed would be an evil augury and
submission to a desecration. To tell Kenneth Thornton would kindle his
resentment and provoke a dangerous quarrel. She herself must remedy the
matter. So Dorothy Parish went for her spade, and late into the night
she laboured at that second transplanting.

The roots had not had time to dry or burn, because they had been
upturned so short a time, and before the girl went to her bed the task
was finished, and she dreamed of birds nesting in broad branches and
other home-making thoughts more intimate, but also of vague dangers and
grudge-bearings.

But the next morning her face blanched when her father roused her before
dawn.

"Kenneth Thornton was waylaid and shot last night," he said, briefly.
"They fear he's dying. He's been asking for you."

About the door of Thornton's cabin in the gray freshness of that summer
dawn stood a clump of silent men in whose indignant eyes burned a sombre
light which boded no good for the would-be murderer if he were found. As
the girl came up, with her face pale and grief-stricken, they drew back
on either side opening passageway for her, and Dorothy went directly to
the bed.

Caleb, though, halted at the threshold in response to a hand laid
detainingly on his fringed sleeve.

"We hates to accuse a white man of a deed like this," said Jake Rowlett,
a time-gnawed old Indian fighter, "but Thornton made a statement to
us--under oath. He recognized Peter Doane--and Peter would of scalped
him as well as shot him only he heard somebody rustlin' the brush an'
got away."

"Peter Doane!" Caleb pressed a shaken hand to his bewildered forehead.
"Peter Doane--but I can't credit that! Peter has sat by my hearth night
after night ... Peter has eaten my salt ... Peter has been our
staunchest reliance!"

Caleb's glance travelled searchingly about the circle of faces and read
there unanimous conviction and grim determination.

"Peter has done growed to be half Injin hisself," came the decided
answer. "Thornton didn't swear to no lie when he knew he mout be dyin'."

Caleb straightened decisively and his eyes blazed in spurts of wrath.

"Go after him then," he ordered. "It won't do to let him get away."

The pursuit parties that spread into the woods