"And you were fired upon yesterday, you say?" the Major asked in surprise. "How far out?"

"About ten miles. We had just crossed the portage from the main river to the Kennebacasis when we heard the slashers at work. We launched our canoe, and were heading for this side when they blazed at us several times."

"Dear me! Dear me!" the Major groaned. "I didn't know they were as bold as all that."

"And they will be bolder yet," Dane warned.

"In what way?"

"They will stir up the Indians, if I am not much mistaken."

"But the Indians are friendly to us. Why, we made a treaty with them right here nearly five years ago."

"I know that. But the Indians have become quite restless of late.

When the war was on they received special attention from the English and the Americans. Both sides were anxious to win their good will and support, and gave them many presents. But now that the war is over the Indians are neglected, so they are becoming surly, and ready for mischief. Mark my word, the arrival of these Loyalists will make matters worse."

"In what way?"

"The slashers will do their utmost to stir up the Indians. They will tell them that these newcomers will settle on their hunting-grounds, and kill all their game, while they will be driven out and left to starve."

"Surely they will not do that."

"They have been doing it already, although they know nothing as yet about the coming of the Loyalists. They have been filling the minds of the Indians with all kinds of false stories. So far their words have had little definite effect, but when the natives see so many white people settling along the river, I am afraid they will remember what the slashers have told them, and trouble will follow. Some of the Indians, I am sure, will stand by the treaty, but I have my doubts about many others."

During this conversation Mr. Simonds had been a silent and interested listener. When, however, Dane had ended, he brought his stick down upon the floor with a bang.

"I believe you are right, young man," he began. "White and I have had our suspicions of this for some time, and your words confirm what we have by chance heard. Where do you live, and how is it I have never seen you before?"

"I live in no special place," Dane replied. "My business as the King's Arrow takes me everywhere, although this is the first time I have been sent here."

"How did you come to get that name?"

"Davidson gave it to me. You know, every white pine that is considered suitable for the King's navy is marked with a broad arrow, I guess that suggested the idea to Davidson, as I am always darting here and there like an arrow. Anyway, the name has stuck to me ever since."

"And well that it should," the trader agreed, nodding his head in approval. "Don't you think so, Major?"

The latter, however, was busily writing, so did not hear the question.

Presently he paused and turned to the courier.

"So you think the Loyalists will be in danger along the river?" he asked.

"They will, unless the slashers and others who are against the King can be stopped."

"Who is the ringleader in this rebellion?"

For the first time since entering the room Dane failed to reply. His bronzed face flushed, and his eyes dropped. This both the Major and the trader noted, and their curiosity became aroused. They felt that this courier knew more than he was willing to divulge.

"Are you afraid to tell?" the Major questioned.

Dane suddenly lifted his head, and an angry expression glowed in his eyes.

"Do you think I am afraid?" he demanded. "Do I look it?"

"Well, no," and the Major slightly smiled. "But why will you not tell me the name of the ringleader?"

"Because I have a special reason."

"Suppose I make you?"

"Try it."

Although this reply was low and calm, yet the Major had sufficient knowledge of human nature to know that those two small words meant a great deal. He truly realised that nothing, not even death, could force this st.u.r.dy courier to divulge the secret against his will. He wisely dropped the subject, and turned again to the table. Nothing now was heard in the room but the scratching of the quill across the paper as the Major fashioned the bold comely letters of his answer to William Davidson, the King's purveyor. When he had signed his name, he picked up a small sand-box, and lightly sprinkled the paper. This done, he rose to his feet, crossed the room, and opened the door.

"Parker, bring me a fire," he ordered.

The soldier thus addressed evidently knew what was needed, for in a few minutes he entered, bearing in his hands a small iron receptacle containing a few hot coals. He stood perfectly rigid before the table while the Major held a stick of sealing-wax to the hot iron, and allowed a few drops to fall upon the back of the folded letter. When the Major had pressed his signet ring upon the wax, the task was finished, the soldier saluted and left the room. After the Major had addressed the letter, and sprinkled it until the ink was dry, he handed it to the courier.

"Take this to Davidson," he ordered. "I am glad that I have met you, young man, and I hope to hear from you again."

Dane took the letter, placed it carefully in an inside pocket of his jacket, bade the two men good morning, and at once left the room.

"What do you think of him?" the Major asked turning toward the trader.

"A remarkable young man," was the emphatic reply. "But I am surprised that I have not heard of him before."

"It is strange. But look here, Mr. Simonds," and the Major brought his fist down heavily upon the table, "if I had a regiment of men like that courier to send to Davidson, we would have no more trouble with the slashers and other rebels."

"You're about right, Major. But I'm wondering why he refused to tell us the name of that ringleader. I must get White to work at this. He may be able to find out, for he can do more with the Indians than anybody else."

"I wish you would look carefully into this matter," the Major replied.

"If we can round up that ringleader, it may put a sudden stop to the whole trouble. I shall send half of my men to capture him if he can be found."

CHAPTER VI

WHEN THE BOW-STRING Tw.a.n.gED

The little schooner _Polly_, of twenty tons burden, had come on the flood tide up through the Reversible Falls. She had then slipped out of the Narrows where the grey, weather-beaten limestone rocks frown high on both sides, and was clipping merrily across the big basin of Grand Bay straight for Beaubear's River. She was well loaded, for over a dozen families were on board, with their household effects, together with a large supply of boards and shingles. In addition, there were the guns which Major Studholme was sending up river to William Davidson, the King's purveyor.

It was a beautiful early June day, and as Jean Sterling stood close at the bow she thought that she had never beheld a more perfect sight.

Everywhere she looked great sweeping forests were to be seen crowding to the very water's edge. She breathed a deep sigh of relief, for she was glad to be speeding at last toward her new home in the wilderness.

Surely there she would find refuge from the man who had been d.o.g.g.i.ng her steps ever since she landed at Portland Point. He had not spoken to her after his defeat by Dane Norwood, but she knew that he had ever been near, following and watching her wherever she went. She thought, too, of him who had rescued her that night, and her eyes brightened.

He had seldom been out of her mind since then, and she recalled again his pleasing presence and the words he had spoken. She wondered if she should ever see him again, or whether he had forgotten her altogether.

She was aroused by her father's voice, and glancing quickly around she saw him coming toward her, and with him the captain of the schooner, Jonathan Leavitt.