There was a moment's silence. The word "fire" was struggling for utterance on Carl Merriweather's lips when his cousin's hand leaped from the trigger and covered the flint of his weapon.

"Look at the tall fellow," cried the young backwoodsman. "By the snows of Iceland! he's a white man."

Sure enough, one of the occupants of the tree had suddenly risen to his feet and turned his face towards the depths of the forest. The skin which had been red was white now. Water had metamorphosed him into his true character.

Carl Merriweather grew pale when he saw the transformation, and gave his companion a look which made him smile.

"Both are white!" Darling said. "The short one has washed his face.

See!"

"That is true," said Carl. "A moment more, and we would have sent bullets into their brains. Who can they be? Rascally renegades, no doubt, and as such deserve our b.a.l.l.s."

"More likely Wayne's scouts," replied the settler's nephew. "They often disguise themselves as Indians, and rea.s.sume their true character when it suits them. They are leaving the tree now."

As the young man spoke the twain emerged from the tree top, and approached the brow of the hill.

One was much taller than his companion, and his face looked sad and careworn. Both carried rifles, and tomahawks peeped above their deerskin belts.

They cut a strange figure with white hands and faces, but with shoulders copper-colored, like the Indians'. Their scanty garments were of genuine Indian manufacture, and tufts of feathers, daubed with ochre and sienna, crowned their heads.

"They mean mischief," Carl Merriweather suddenly exclaimed. "Don't let them get to camp if they are really enemies; don't let them see how weak we are."

A moment later George Darling rose and spoke to the advancing couple:

"Friends or enemies?" he cried.

The strangers executed a sudden halt, and hastily c.o.c.king their rifles, looked about for the speaker. But the young man was not easily seen, for his body was screened by a tree.

"Friends or enemies?" he repeated. "You can't advance until you have told us."

"Friends, of course," was the response by the youngest of the twain.

"You belong to Abel Merriweather's family, and we are attached to Wayne's command."

"Thank G.o.d!" cried Carl Merriweather, springing from his place of concealment and hastening toward the new comers.

"You saved your lives by washing the paint from your faces. What are your names?"

"Mine is Harvey Catlett and my friend's is Abner Stark; but every where they call him Wolf Cap," was the reply.

"And you are Mad Anthony's scouts? Glory!" the overjoyed youth shouted, and then George Darling managed to get a word in.

"You are very welcome," he said. "Heaven knows that we need your a.s.sistance. Did you know we were here?"

"We did," said young Catlett, "and as we feared that you might send a bullet into the first red face that greeted you, we thought best to make ours white before making your acquaintance."

"Thank G.o.d for that," responded Darling fervently, and he shuddered when he thought how nearly he had taken the life of a succoring friend.

It was with joy that the youths led the scouts into the forest.

They felt that great a.s.sistance had been sent them from on high.

CHAPTER VIII.

A SECOND CATASTROPHE.

Harvey Catlett and his companion were received with great joy at the camp near the river bank.

The fugitives took new hope with their appearance, and seemed to think that the remainder of the journey to Wayne would be accomplished without further trouble.

Mrs. Merriweather so expressed herself, when the young woodsman shook his head and replied:

"We cannot save you in and of ourselves," he said; "but we will do all we can. The trails to Wayne's army are dark and perilous. I do not seek to keep anything back."

"That is right, sir," said the father quickly. "My wife is p.r.o.ne to exaggerate good fortune. I do not want her to remain deceived. I comprehend the situation, and am prepared for it."

"That is right," said Wolf Cap. "In these times one must know something about Indian affairs."

"Now that we have exchanged our guide for you gentlemen, I am sure that our fortunes will mend."

"Where is the guide of whom you have spoken?" asked Catlett, addressing the head of the family.

"Across the river, I suppose," Abel Merriweather answered with a smile.

"Deserted?"

"Yes."

"Just like the worthless guides of these days. It is a wonder that he did not get you into the Indian's power."

"He attempted to, but failed."

"Just so."

At Wolf Cap's request Merriweather related the attempt made to get the boat ash.o.r.e, and the two scouts listened attentively to the recital.

"Now, how come he to leave you this morning? Let us know all, Mr.

Merriweather."

The story of Little Moccasin's appearance in the camp, and John Darknight's hasty desertion was then told.

"Now what do you think of the girl?" the young scout said in a low tone to Wolf Cap.

There was a tinge of triumph in the youth's voice.

"What have I already told you about her?" was the reply. "I allow that her action is strange, but those Indian witches can outdo anything in the woods. I have my opinion, and shall stick to it. Of course you will let me do this, boy."