“i think mr. hatch better not talk any more now,” said return kingdom, quickly looking around and noticing the quaker’s flushed, excited manner. “you must be careful, you are still so weak,” the boy continued, adjusting the straw-filled bolster for the man to lie down again.

“i didn’t mean any harm by my question,” john spoke up, quietly.

“thou didst no harm, young friend, but almost frightened me,” the stranger answered.

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so the incident passed leaving the boys more curious than ever to know the history and true identity of theodore hatch. ree would not confess that he was especially anxious to learn these things, because his fear of wounding the man’s feelings would not permit him to question the stranger; but john openly vowed that he meant to find out just who and what the stranger was, and would do so sooner or later. and in time the boys did ascertain all they could have wished to know, but in ways quite unexpected.

“there’s a lot of work to be done, building a horse shed and all,” said ree, when the two friends were outside the cabin after the talk with theodore hatch, “but in spite of that, one of us should go back along the trail and bury the bones of ichabod nesbit. i’m afraid that some day our quaker will ask to be taken to the place, and he would not think very well of us if he found things just as they were left.”

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john fell in with this suggestion heartily, but it was agreed that there would be time to perform the task spoken of, two or three days later, and meanwhile some inkling of the whereabouts of the lone indian might be obtained. thus it was that after some discussion it was decided that ree should go that very day to the village of the delawares on the lake a few miles away, to learn all he could of this particular savage and the disposition of the indians in general, while at the same time he showed the people of captain pipe, the delaware chieftain, that the lads desired to renew their friendly relations with them. john would remain with the stranger to care for him and guard the cabin, giving his work the while to cutting small logs with which to build a barn.

taking some presents for the delawares, ree set out at about nine o’clock, promising to be home by dark. john shouldered his axe and went to work. it had been ree’s first plan to make his trip on horseback, but resolving that it would be safer to slip through the woods very quietly until he found out just what the situation with reference to the indians was, he traveled on foot, and soon found himself upon the familiar portage trail leading from the cuyahoga river to the headwaters of the tuscarawas.

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ree knew the way perfectly, for he had traveled the route several times the previous winter. he felt no harm for his safety, but kept his eyes wide open and pushed forward among the great oaks and beech trees stealthily and rapidly. he saw no indians but once or twice when splendid shots of game might have been made, he ignored them for safety’s sake. leaving the beaten trail after an hour’s traveling, he made directly through the woods to the lake. without seeing any human creature he approached the indian town.

an air of loneliness hung over the place. instead of smoke rising from two score or more of fires, in and among the rude log and bark houses and wigwams, the few columns of blue vapor which ascended seemed to show that the village was almost deserted.

this was true. no one remained in the usually lively home of captain pipe save a number of children and old men and squaws.

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“how—ugh!” grunted an old warrior, smoking his pipe in a sunny place. he recognized ree at once and held out his hand.

in a few minutes a half dozen aged men of the tribe had gathered around and all gave the young trader welcome. they could speak little english and though ree knew some delaware words their efforts at conversation were so poorly rewarded that one of the indians went to call an interpreter.

to ree’s surprise and pleasure the person summoned was gentle maiden, the daughter of captain pipe, a young woman thoroughly deserving of the pretty name the moravian missionaries had bestowed upon her. from them she had learned the language of the “long-knives” and with her kingdom could communicate readily.

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gentle maiden had no hesitancy in answering questions. she said her father and his warriors were still in the northwest country and might be absent all winter. even lately runners had been in the neighborhood to call all able-bodied men to join the braves who had first gone forth for the expected fighting, and no indians remained in the vicinity save those who were too old to go to war, and some of the women and children.

“and big buffalo?” asked ree, referring to the redskin who had given himself and john so much trouble and from whom he had made his escape in the nick of time after the attack upon their cabin.

“big buffalo is with the rest,” said gentle maiden.

“there is an indian—not a delaware, i think—but one who roams the forests alone and is not a friend of the palefaces. what of him? he is still about here?”

“he is not of my father’s people,” was the indian girl’s answer.

“you know who he is?”

“there are many wanderers in the forests; many of our race have been driven, even like yonder leaves in the wind, before the coming of the long-knives.”

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the answer puzzled kingdom. it was apparent that the indian girl wished not to tell what she knew of the mysterious redskin, and that her sympathy was with him, though she declared herself still friendly to the young traders who had bought land of her father a year earlier.

with genuine indian hospitality the indians brought food for ree, but he noticed that it was of inferior quality and not so generous in quantity as usual—only a handful of parched corn. he ate, however, to show his friendliness, and after a time, leaving his gifts, a string of glass beads and a large pocket knife, with the delawares, bade them good-bye.

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reaching home some time before sundown, ree found that john had passed a quiet, busy day. under these favorable circumstances, as he was almost completely exhausted by his long hours of watchfulness the night before, this following, too, upon many nights of broken rest, he said that ring might do guard and both himself and john would turn in early. to this the latter would not listen, however, saying he would remain awake to keep an eye on the horses lest some wild beast attack them, if nothing more. he could remain in the cabin and do this, peering frequently through a loop hole, he said.

this, their second night in the cabin, passed quietly. once toward morning ph?be, the quaker’s mare, snorted and trembled violently, but john saw or heard no cause for alarm, though the horse’s action undoubtedly indicated that the lone indian was somewhere near.

agreeing that this was almost certainly the case, the boys were especially watchful as they were about their work next day and for many days afterward. no night passed, either, until their lean-to stable was completed, but that one of the young men stood guard, much to the alarm of theodore hatch, who feared an attack upon the cabin at any time.

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this thought did not worry either ree or john. the tactics of their solitary foe, they were now certain, were not to fight in the open, but to shoot from some safe distance; and he had shown such fear for his own safety by always disappearing immediately after he had fired a shot, that both lads held him more or less in contempt. still, they realized the constant danger the redskin placed them in, and though they had not made an open agreement to that effect, each boy knew that he wanted only the proper opportunity to shoot the indian dead.

how differently they felt afterward, at least for a time, had no bearing on their plans at this time. they only knew that it was a case of kill or be killed.

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the days passed rapidly. there was so much to do that it seemed that deep snows might make hunting a difficult task rather than a pleasure, before they could get to it. no sooner was the barn built than the corn, or all that remained of it, had to be gathered and stored away—the fodder stacked against the stable, the ears hung over the rafters of the cabin,—and the few scattered potatoes which remained, harvested. of the latter there was scarcely more than enough for seed for the following spring, and to supplement their store of food in addition to the meat they might always have, nuts were gathered—beech nuts, chestnuts, hickory nuts and butternuts.

when all this had been done there was grass to be stored away for the horses. it scarcely deserved the name of hay—the long grass which grew in open spots along the valley; but quite a large stack of it was laboriously harvested with no tools other than a scythe and home-made rake.

thus more than two weeks passed, and theodore hatch, as much a mystery as ever, was becoming strong enough to dress himself and walk about for a few minutes at a time, when ree again reminded john of the necessity of their giving the bones of ichabod nesbit a decent interment. the result was that john proposed to go himself, on horseback, the following day, and perform the task referred to.

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so it was agreed, and allowing the quaker to rest under the impression that he was going back along their trail only to bring up the old cart, which for more than a year had stood exposed to the weather in the ravine where it had been left, john started off at daylight on a clear, frosty morning. the fine air and the beautiful, peaceful quiet of the woods, broken only by the occasional call of wild turkeys or the chattering of squirrels and other small animals, put the younger of the boy pioneers in a most happy frame of mind.

neb, having done little work for more than a fortnight, was also in high spirits and needed no urging to trot or gallop wherever the forest was sufficiently open to permit it. good progress being made, therefore, horse and rider reached and crossed the gully where the abandoned cart stood, by the middle of the forenoon. proceeding more slowly then, for the trail was becoming more difficult for traveling, they approached the spot they sought.

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“i don’t mind the ride at all, but i shan’t enjoy playing sexton, i know,” john was saying to himself, as he dismounted to lead neb down the hill sloping to the brook beside which ichabod nesbit’s bones lay, and casting about for a suitable place to tie the horse.

“hark!”

john spoke beneath his breath, and his heart beat fast. angry voices came to his ear, and they were not far away.

slipping the bridle rein over a branch, the lad went cautiously forward, keeping behind the thicket which skirted the stream.

again the voices were heard. undoubtedly they were those of white men engaged in violent argument.

“’twas the quaker, blast him!” one coarse voice exclaimed. “and you, you indian dog, said not a word about him till now! why didn’t you tell us you had told him where you killed the man?”

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scarcely was this sentence spoken when john reached a point not more than fifty feet from the source of the angry contention where he could see, but, hidden by the thick brush, escaped being seen.

there stood duff and dexter, the men he and ree had met at the eagle tavern, and also hank quilling, the proprietor of that disreputable establishment. with them was an indian,—and—could it be possible that he was associating with such rogues?—john almost whistled for amazement. the redskin was his old friend, black eagle.

duff was speaking. his rage was terrible as he pointed his finger menacingly at the indian and cried out, as the mohawk stood haughtily erect, his arms folded upon his chest, though his eyes flashed.

“blast your red hide! i could—by the eternal, i will—kill you!”

with a tremendous oath, the white man raised his rifle and quick as flash discharged it, the muzzle almost touching black eagle’s body.

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it was all over in an instant. the bullet sped to the indian’s heart; the poor fellow fell senseless, dying at his slayer’s feet.

“lord, man! would you bring a whole tribe of warriors down on us! an’ us away off here—”

it was the proprietor of the eagle tavern who was speaking now, gasping the words chokingly, frightened and dazed by the brutal murder committed.

before he could say more, john jerome sprang among them. so quickly and noiselessly had he emerged from the brush that he was not seen till his angry voice came shrill and harsh:

“you fiends! you fiends! oh, i hope i’ll see you hanged for this! what does it mean! shooting black eagle down like a wolf—or—or a beast! and he was more a decent man than all three of you!”

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with a curse upon the boy, duff sprang forward and bore him down. together they fell heavily, the murderer foaming at the mouth like a mad dog, in the violence of his rage, his evil, disfigured face almost black and horrible to behold, while his companions stood aghast.

“don’t get us into no trouble, duff! you don’t know what yer doin’ when yer blood’s up!” dexter protested, hurrying to the combatants and trying to draw his villainous companion away, the man and boy rolling over and over in their fierce struggle.

“make short work of it, duff, whatever you do! there’s another o’ them boys, an’ he may be here any minute—an’ injuns, too!” yelled quilling, the landlord, jumping about in his fear and excitement, and ending with—“fight it out, dang ye! ye’ve had a noose round yer neck ’fore now, but nobody kin say i killed the boy!”

and with these words the fellow threw his rifle over his shoulder and ran.

“won’t do no good to kill him—won’t do no good, duff,” dexter kept gasping, still trying to pull his friend away, though his efforts were puny as a child’s.

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“curse you—curse you for two cowardly fools!” duff yelled, again and again, vainly trying to get his hands on john jerome’s throat. and then he looked to see whither quilling had retreated.

the boy, struggling beneath the man’s greater weight, needed no better opportunity. he managed to get one foot quickly free and letting it drive with all his force against his assailant’s middle, sent the fellow rolling upon the ground.

the next second john was upon his feet, his rifle at his shoulder. dexter was already running to overtake the fleeing landlord, and duff, picking himself up, looked first at john, then at his runaway friends.

“boy,” he said, slowly and distinctly, in tones more of deep, deliberate hate than anger, “i was minded to kill you the night you spied on us at that dirty hole of quilling’s. there are reasons why i am going to let you go again”—

“yes, here’s one!” snapped the boy, defiantly raising his rifle.

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“you impudent —— but i’m not through with you yet.” duff’s voice was low, though deeply, bitterly threatening. but he was interrupted—

“now you march!” commanded john jerome, and his voice was stern and sharp. “i’ll let daylight into that black heart of yours, right here, and now, if you don’t!”

boldly, not once turning his head to see if the rifle’s muzzle still covered him, duff strode away; but he called to his companions:

“run, you blasted idiots! but i miss my guess if i don’t know who’s got something you’d like blasted well to get hold of!”

as the rough fellow disappeared among the trees, john still watching, an indian, who, unobserved, had seen the killing of black eagle, stole away through the bushes and vanished as silently as he had come and as he had watched.