"Yes. We must not see Wayne before we have offered help to the Merriweathers. Are we not near the tree?"

"Nearer than you think. Look yonder."

The speaker pointed to a tree whose great trunk was just discernible, and the twain hastened toward it.

About six feet from the ground there was a hole large enough to admit a medium sized hand, and Wolf Cap was not long in plunging his own into its recesses.

He withdrew it a moment later with a show of disappointment.

"Nothin' from Wells and the same from Hummingbird," he said, turning to Catlett.

"We are too soon, perhaps," was the answer.

"They will be here, then. We may need their a.s.sistance. Hummingbird or Wells?"

"The first that comes."

"That will do. Write."

The young scout drew a small piece of paper from his bullet pouch, and wrote thereon with a pointed stick of lead the following message:

"_To the first here_:

"We have gone down the Maumee to protect a white family flying to Wayne. Follow us. No news."

The message was dropped in the forest letter box, and the disguised scouts set out upon their errand of mercy and protection.

One behind the other, like the wily Indians whom they personated, they traversed the forest, now catching a glimpse of the starlit waters of the Maumee, and now wrapped in the gloom of impenetrable darkness.

Not a word was spoken. Now and then an ear was placed upon the earth to detect the approach of an enemy should any be lurking near their path.

With the woodman's practiced care they gave forth no sound for listening savages, and with eager hopes continued to press on.

The tree, with its silent call for help, was soon left behind, and the scouts did not dream that the robber was near.

Not long after their departure from the spot, a figure halted at the tree, and a dark hand dropped into the letter box. With almost devilish eagerness the fingers closed upon the paper that lay at the bottom of the hole, and drew it out.

"A paper at last," said the man in triumphant tones. "I knew I would find it sometime."

The next moment the thief hurried towards the river with the scouts'

message clutched tightly in his hand.

Wolf Cap and Harvey Catlett would have given much for that man's scalp, for at the time of which we write he was the dread of every woman and child in the Northwestern Territory.

His name was James Girty, and his deeds excelled in cruelty his brother Simon's.

CHAPTER III.

THE TERRIBLE DISCOVERY.

Leaving the characters of our story already mentioned for a brief time, let us turn our attention to the devoted little band of fugitives who were flying through the gauntlet of death to Wayne's protecting guns.

While Harvey Catlett was conversing with Little Moccasin, watched with a jealous eye by the tall scout, a large but light boat was nearing the foot of the famous Maumee rapids.

It kept in the center of the stream, as if its occupants believed that danger lurked along the shadowed banks, and consultation was carried on in whispers.

The boat thus slowly ascending the stream contained eight persons. Four were men, strong, active and with determined visages; the others consisted of a matron, a girl of eighteen, and two children whose ages were respectively twelve and fourteen.

Abel Merriweather, the matron's husband and the father of the interesting ones grouped about her, was the oldest person in the craft; his male companions were George Darling, his nephew, an Englishman called John Darknight, and a young American named Oscar Parton.

To Darknight the navigation of the Maumee was well known, as he had spent much time upon its bosom, and he was serving the Merriweathers in the capacity of guide.

Abel Merriweather, a little headstrong and fearful, had overruled the counsel of true friends. He believed that his family was in danger while the roof of the cabin near the mouth of the Maumee sheltered it. The muttered growls of war made him timorous, and he saw no safety anywhere save behind the bayonets of Wayne. Therefore, in company with his nephew and Oscar Parton, who was his daughter Kate's acknowledged suitor, and with John Darknight for a guide, he had embarked upon the perilous attempt of reaching Fort Defiance with his loved ones.

"Of course we cannot stem the rapids," the guide said in response to a question from young Darling. "Our portage must now begin."

As he spoke the boat began to approach the left bank of the stream.

"We are nearing the wrong bank," said Parton.

"Of course we are," the settler replied, noticing the boat's course, and he turned upon the guide:

"What does this mean?" he demanded, with his usual brusqueness.

"Nothing dangerous, sir. You see that we can best journey up the left bank of the river. The Indians are ma.s.sing in the south."

"But I have been advised by the scouts of Mad Anthony to go up the right bank."

"You have?"

"Yes, sir. If I understand you, you have not been in these parts for a month, while my informants and advisers were here but a week since."

The guide did not reply for a minute, during which the boat continued toward the dusky sh.o.r.e, for his hand was upon the rudder.

"Pardon me, John," the settler said; "but I feel constrained to listen to the scouts, one of whom was William Wells himself."

"Wells, eh?" said Darknight, with a sneer. "Between you and I, Merriweather, I would not trust that Injun-bred fellow farther than the length of my nose."

"I consider him a true man," said Kate, the daughter, who had overheard the latter part of the conversation between her father and the guide.

"He doesn't look like a rogue, and I am sure that he would not advise us wrongly on purpose."

John Darknight did not reply to the girl's remarks; but relapsed into sullenness, and doggedly turned the prow of the boat to the other sh.o.r.e.

"What do you think now?" whispered George Darling in the settler's ear.