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“Don’t mention Moon Eye to me,” said Dave Morris, with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “That Indian will never forgive me for escaping from him with Nell and the twins. I suppose he’d give a whole lot to get his hands on me again.”

“As for that, he’d like to get his hands on any of the men who fought against him and his followers. The Indians think——Wait, Dave! Turn in to the shore, quick! I just saw the buffalo. He is back of the rocks over yonder!”

The canoe was turned in the direction indicated with all possible speed. Soon it glided under some overhanging bushes, and the paddles were stowed away noiselessly. Then each of the young hunters caught up his flint-lock musket, looked to the priming, to make certain that the weapon was ready for use, and stepped ashore.

“As you saw him first, you lead,” whispered Dave Morris to his companion, and Henry led off, with the other youth close at his heels. Both had their eyes and ears on the alert for whatever might turn up.

As the old readers of this “Colonial Series” know, Dave and Henry Morris were cousins, of about the same age, who when at home lived near Will’s Creek, Virginia—close to where the town of Cumberland now stands. Dave was the only son of a widower, James Morris, who was a well-known trapper and fur trader. Henry came of a more numerous family, he having an older brother Rodney and also a sister Nell, a bright miss of tender years.