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With a terrific bound the figure leapt to its feet, the right arm swinging a tomahawk, and, despite an effort at control, Maggie shrieked. The light was now strong enough to show the lineaments of the Indian, whose face and body were smeared with grease and soot and whose countenance wore the expression of one roused from deep emotion in sudden rage.

“Hemlock, do not look at me so; I am Maggie Forsyth, come from the Chateaugay to seek you.”

Instantly the face of the Indian softened. “Why should the fawn leave the groves of the Chateaugay to seek so far the lair of the lynx?”

“Your friend Morton is doomed to die by the American soldiers and you alone can save him.”

“What! Did he not escape? Tell me all.”

Maggie told him what she knew, he listening with impassive countenance. When she had done, he paused, as if reflecting, and then said curtly, “I will go with you.” It was now fair daylight, and Maggie saw, to her dismay, that the mound upon which she had found Hemlock outstretched was a grave, and that, at the head of it was a stake upon which hung several scalps, the topmost evidently cut from a recent victim. Glancing at the radiant eastward sky, the Indian started, and ignoring the presence of his visitor, fell on his knees on the grave, and turning his face so as to see the sun when it should shoot its first beam over the broad lake, which was reflecting the glow of the rosy clouds that overhung its further point, he communed with the dead. “I leave thee, Spotted Fawn, for a while, that I may meet those who did thee hurt and bring back another scalp to satisfy thy spirit. Thy father’s arm is strong, but it is stronger when he thinks of thee. Tarry a while before you cross the river and I will finish my task and join thee in the journey to the hunting-ground; the arm that oft bore you when a child, will carry you over the waters and rocks. Farewell! Oh, my child, my daughter, how could you leave me? Tread softly and slowly, for I will soon leave my lodge of sorrow and see you and clasp you to my heart.” There was a pause, a groan of unutterable sorrow escaped his lips, and he sank lifeless upon the grave. Agitated with deep sympathy, Maggie stepped forward and kneeling beside the Indian stroked his head and shoulders as if she had been soothing a child.