Alexander Key
With Daniel Boone on the Caroliny Trail

    He knew the Wilderness better than any man... he made his own trails and journeyed from Canada to the Floridas... he crossed the great Blue Wall and found the Eden no one believed existed... and long after other men would have been in their graves, he walked to the Yellowstone and back. He was an incredible person, and perhaps the greatest traveler of his day. Call this story of his youth fiction if you will, but who knows but what it could be true? It is to his memory that I most respectfully inscribe this book.

Foreword
Part One
    Chapter 1: Strangers in the Wilderness
    Chapter 2: Tandy Walker
    Chapter 3: Lost
    Chapter 4: The Wounded Man
    Chapter 5: The Buffalo Hunt
Part Two
    Chapter 6: The Yadkin
    Chapter 7: Squire Boone
    Chapter 8: A Message from George
    Chapter 9: The Iroquois
    Chapter 10: Jody Brent
Part Three
    Chapter 11: Bribe Goods
    Chapter 12: The Raft
    Chapter 13: Castaways
    Chapter 14: The Cave
    Chapter 15: Flight through the Wilderness
    Chapter 16: At the Cabin

Foreword
    Mr. Webster defines fiction as “a literary production of the imagination in prose form.” That leaves me no choice. Caroliny Trail, therefore, is fiction. I would much rather use a softer word like “supposition.” To say that this is fiction is to declare that it is all purely imaginary, and that it never happened. But, you see, a lot of it really could have happened – and I like to think that some of it actually did happen.
    Try to visualize a tall young man, hardly seventeen years old, struggling with compass and tripod through the dark virgin timber at the head of his surveying party, somewhere in the eastern foothills of the Blue Ridge. The year is 1749. The surveyor’s name is George Washington, and he is engaged in the hazardous and extremely difficult task of marking the boundary of an immense tract of wilderness land. Already he and his little group have spent a year at this job, tramping through sunless country that had never heard the sound of an ax, and meeting no one for weeks on end except an occasional wandering hunter in buckskins.
    It sounds incredible, today, that a youth of sixteen would be given so important a commission. Yet it is true. What strange adventures befell him during this period, and the two years following before the survey was completed, no one knows. We have no record of all he did, of the strangers whose trails crossed his own, and of the friends he made. He must have made friends, many of them, for George had a way with people.
    I think it not only probable, but very likely, that he met a certain young woodsman by the name of Boone. Why? Because it was at this time that Squire Boone brought his family southward to their new wilderness home on the Yadkin – a long journey that would take him down the very routes George used, through the country that was being surveyed. And in those troublous times when strange trails crossed in the wilderness, the wise man investigated his neighbor.
    Before the canny Squire risked bringing his family into this unknown country, I believe he must have come down first with one of his boys to look things over. He must have chosen Dan as his companion, for certainly Dan was the most logical choice. Even as a boy he was a skilled woodsman, able to hold his own with any man.
    All this forms the basis of my story. Of the meeting between Dan and George, and of Dan’s subsequent adventures in search of the Yadkin and his father’s land, I ask the reader’s indulgment. Of the year of which I am writing, history leaves us with a blank space in the lives of two people, at a time when almost anything could have happened.
    One bloody war had just closed, and already another was drawing to a head. During this interval on the border, there was continual murder between the French and their Indian allies and the English. When Squire Boone came to the Yadkin, both sides were bidding for the favors of the Cherokees, so there is a strong background of truth in my story of young Dan’s experiences. Perhaps he really did some of the things I have credited to him. Who knows?

PART ONE
Chapter 1: Strangers in the Wilderness
    Dan was nearly fourteen, long-legged and strong, but he was beginning to find it hard to keep up with his father’s steady gait. The Squire moved swiftly through the woods ahead of him, a tall, lean figure in leggings and fringed hunting shirt. Strapped to his broad shoulders was a buckskin robe, neatly folded to hold two extra pairs of moccasins and a small bag of parched corn soaked in molasses. Dan’s pack was identical, though in his hands he carried only a short staff instead of a rifle.
    “’Tis a long journey down into Caroliny,” his father had said. “If’n ye go with me, thar must be no laggin’.”
    “I’ll not lag,” Dan had answered eagerly.
    Why, this was the chance of a lifetime! Ever since he could remember he had been wanting to explore farther and farther beyond the narrow country where they lived. Each new day the Schuylkill region was losing more of its wildness. Settlers were appearing, building cabins, cutting trees, destroying game.... “It’s gittin’ built up so thick,” the Squire had grumbled, “that a feller can’t hardly breathe.”
    Dan felt the same way about it. But his mother had said, “That wilderness land is no place to take a wee lad!”
    “Wee lad!” the Squire had scoffed. “Tush! Can’t ye see he’s nigh growed? ’Tis time he traveled a spell from home to git the feel of his man’s legs. I own a smart piece o’ land in Caroliny, an’ it’ll take two to scout it out an’ tell whether ’tis fit for us to move there. But mind, Danny lad, if’n I take ye in place o’ one o’ the older boys, ye must play the man’s part an’ keep a sharp eye.”
    Well, a good many weeks lay behind them now, and some hundreds of weary miles over ridges and thick timber and deep streams that had to be crossed on a log. So far he had managed well enough and had given the Squire no cause for complaint. But his feet ached, he was hungry, and today his father had been walking faster than usual. Many times during the morning they had sighted deer within easy range, but the Squire had refused to risk a shot, even though they needed meat. Dan asked no questions, but he thought longingly of fresh venison roasted over a campfire.
    Ahead, his father suddenly stopped beside a small stream that came tumbling down through the shadows of the woods. Dan turned, leaning his tired body on his staff. While he rested, his sharp blue eyes studied every detail in the gloom of the big trees.
    Behind him a wood duck flew into a hole high up in a hollow trunk. A ruffed grouse resumed his drumming on a log, and a slim doe with a fawn tripped silently through a pool of sunlight. Dan’s keen eyes missed nothing. If there was danger, at least it was not behind them.
    “Danny,” the Squire spoke abruptly. “Come here a minute.”
    His father was tugging thoughtfully at his short beard. “Son,” he said, “thar’s men about, an’ I’m thinkin’ they be Injins.”
    “Injins? How many? Where?”
    “Danny boy, some day ye won’t be havin’ me around to answer all the questions. Supposin’ as how ye use your own eyes an’ tell me what ye see.”
    Dan’s searching glance swept the ground. He stooped, intently studying the crushed blades of grass beside the narrow creek. Farther on was a broken twig and a few pebbles pressed into the hard ground, and in the clay by the water’s edge was a small depression that could have been made only by the toe of a sharp-pointed moccasin. Dim, faint signs that only trained observers would notice.
    “There was three of ’em,” said Dan. “They crossed the creek here. Nigh two hours ago, jedging by the way the grass looks.”
    “Good,” said the Squire. “Is that all?”
    Dan took off his coonskin cap and scratched his head, frowning. “No, two of ’em went upstream. T’other went downstream.”
    “What kind of Injins was they?” asked the Squire.
    “They-they warn’t Cherokees.”
    “How d’ye know they warn’t Cherokees? Ye never seen a Cherokee moccasin in your life!”
    Dan rubbed his freckled cheek, thinking hard. “From the way they tromped around here, it seems like they was kinda lost. But I never hyeared of an Injin gittin’ lost. An Injin never got lost in his life. Besides, a Cherokee is a mountain Injin – an’ these footprints look like they come from the tidewater. Why-why, they must be white men!”
    “Course they’s white men!” laughed the Squire. “Now, what are white men a-doin’ here on the edge o’ the Cherokee country?”
    “They warn’t traders,” said Dan, “’cause they warn’t a-walkin’ heavy enough to be carryin’ big packs.”
    The Squire stood a moment in thought. “Beyonst the high ground upstream, I’m thinkin’, is the valley o’ the Yadkin. Thar’s where our land is, Danny, that we’ve come so far to see. Now, I’m a-goin’ on over the ridge an’ follow them two men. You slip downstream an’ take a look at t’other man. They may be good people what’s lost, or they may be bad men out a-stirrin’ up trouble with the Injins. When ye finish scoutin’, follow my trail to the other valley an’ ye’ll find me thar a-waitin’. But be careful – thar’s Injins around.”
    “I know it,” said Dan.
    “How do ye know it?” murmured the Squire.
    “Not by any real sign. I jest feel they’s here.”
    The Squire peered at him sharply. “I always said, Danny, that ye was a born woodsman. That’s why I brung ye in place o’ the other boys.”
    Dan watched his father swing away into the shadows of the trees. He studied the creek several moments, his mouth tightened, and he started off down the bank.
    He forgot his tiredness in the strange feeling of being suddenly by himself alone in this great forest stretching dark and untouched around him for hundreds of miles. Virgin, unknown country that swept forever westward – no man knew how far. But he was not afraid. He had lived always in the woods, and had learned to read and understand its secrets far better than those of the one or two books he had seen during his brief school days.
    No, he was not afraid, but he would have felt better if he could have had a rifle like his father’s. Rifles, though, were expensive and hard to get.
    For an hour or more he followed the single trail. He went swiftly, silently, using an Indian’s caution to keep himself hidden as much as possible. At the end of that time he saw where the man had leaped across the creek – something only a strong and agile person could have done. Probably a very young man, Dan thought, wading across after him.
    There was a great deal of trouble up North, he knew – trouble with the French and their Indian allies. That was one of the main reasons why his father wanted to move South, before real warfare occurred. But suppose these three men were Frenchmen, sent down south to talk the mountain Indians into mischief?
    Dan stopped suddenly, considering what this would mean. If someone set the Cherokees on the warpath, it would not be safe to bring the family down here to settle. He had not as yet seen how the Yadkin valley looked beyond the ridge, but it must be like this – a wild, beautiful land of great trees, streams that ran clear and cold from the hills, and game everywhere. The very thought of living in such a region filled him with an excited longing. And over to the west were mountains, blue mountains filled with mystery.
    The forest shut out the sunlight, but he knew from the deepening shadows that evening was near. If he did not find the man soon, it would be too dark to follow his father’s trail. He would have to spend the night alone.
    The man’s footprints were easier to see now, for they were dragging as if he were tired. They led away from the creek, down a narrow ravine, and thence upward through a knee-deep layer of leaves to a ridge. Suddenly they curved back to a creek.
    Dan approached the stream’s edge carefully. It was not the same creek he had been on at first, though it looked very much like the other. He knew immediately that it must be a branch, and that the mouth of it was probably hidden by the dense azalea thickets he had noticed an hour ago.
    It was twilight before he caught sight of the man he had been following – a tall, well-built young fellow in buckskins. But he was not a woodsman, for he wore a black tricorn on his head. Gentlemen from the tidewater wore hats like that – and Frenchmen from Quebec!
    Dan crept silently forward, moving with the stealth of a fox from one tree trunk to another. The fellow had stopped, was staring about him with a puzzled look on his pleasant young face. Seeing no evil there, Dan stepped suddenly from his hiding place.
    “Howdy, Mister Stranger!” he said. “Ye look kinda bewildered.”
    The fellow whirled around, raising his rifle. He dropped it when he saw Dan, blinked, and then smiled.
    “Faith, you startled me!” he said. “I never dreamed I’d meet anyone like you in this place!”
    Dan was usually timid with strangers, but there was something about this young fellow that made him feel friendly right away. He wasn’t very old, could not be much older than Dan himself, hardly three or four years older, Dan saw. But he was taller than most full-grown men. In a few minutes they were talking like old acquaintances.
    “My name’s George,” said the stranger. “Don’t tell me you’re all alone here!”
    “No, my Paw’s hereabouts, the Squire’s with me. I’m his son Dan. Him an’ me come down to look at some land we own,” Dan explained. “Course, Paw’s not really a squire; but he was named that, you see, an’ everybody calls him the Squire as if it was a real title. My, I’m glad you ain’t no French-man!
    George laughed. “We’re just hard-working surveyors from the coast. We came over to mark some boundaries on the Yadkin, but I’m beginning to believe that river doesn’t exist! My friends went upstream to look around, and promised to be back by sunset. I can’t understand what’s happened, and I’m afraid they went farther than they intended. Maybe if I give ’em a shot with the rifle—”
    “No, no – don’t shoot!” Dan interrupted quickly. “’Tain’t healthy. Thar’s Injins here around!”
    George looked incredulous. “I haven’t seen an Indian for three weeks.”
    “They’re here, somewhere,” Dan insisted, “an’ mebbe watchin’ us right now. They been walkin’ in the creeks, I think, so we wouldn’t see their trails. They can’t be on the warpath yet – cause an Injin always lets ye know first. But they know white men are here, an’ they’re waitin’.”
    “You seem to know a lot,” George drawled. “Maybe you can tell me where my friends are, and how we can find the Yadkin.”
    “I’ll take ye to the Yadkin in the mornin’,” Dan promised. “It’s too late now. We’ll have to camp here tonight. Paw’s likely found your friends already. Guess ye don’t know ye got on the wrong creek, do ye?”
    George’s mouth dropped. “Don’t you dare tell anybody I got lost,” he said. “Faith, I’d never hear the last of it!”
    They found a well-screened hollow behind a windfall, unrolled their packs, and made ready for the night.
    “I’m so hungry,” Dan said, “I could chaw the bark off’n a tree! I could catch some trout out’n the creek yonder, only I hate to light a fire.”
    “I’m for taking the chance, friend Dan,” said the other. “A man has to eat, and if the Cherokees come, why – we’ll feed ’em!”
    Dan stood irresolute, but hunger decided him. He opened the pouch at his belt and took out a finely braided horsehair line with a tiny hook looped in the end. He tied the other end to a short willow switch. George looked at him doubtfully while he caught half a dozen fat beetles under a log and attached one to the hook. “If you had a fish spear, young fellow,” George said, “I’d be willing to bet on you, but—”
    “You jest git a fire a-goin’.”
    Dan grinned, and crept down to the creek. George plugged the pan of his rifle and snapped the flint upon a piece of flax dusted with powder. When the stuff was smoldering, he blew it into a flame and soon had a small fire going in the hollow.
    In half an hour Dan returned. Strung on a stick were six large trout. George was even more amazed when Dan, lips tight, skewered all six fish and placed them over the coals to roast.
    “Gad, friend Dan, you act as if we were having visitors!”
    “We are,” Dan answered, in a voice that was not quite steady. “D-didn’t ye hear ’em callin’ a while back?”
    “I heard a pair of wild turkeys gobbling.”
    “Well,” said Dan, “they’re the kind o’ turkeys what like trout.”
    George stared at him. Suddenly he rose, peering into the dark beyond the fire. Dan whispered, “Put down your rifle! It’s too late to run or fight.”
    Two tall straight forms appeared at the edge of the firelight. Almost instantly, two others appeared on the other side. Black, beady eyes squinted down at them from coppery faces.
    “Cherokees!” George muttered.
    Dan willed himself to stand, to smile into those dark unsmiling, emotionless faces. He picked out one that wore a tuft of red feathers in his hair and a necklace of bear claws. Only a leader would dress that way. Raising his hand, palm outward, he said, “How!” It was the way he had been taught to greet an Indian. George, smiling, did the same thing. Good for George!
    The leader held out his palm, repeating the gesture of peace. A rumbling “How!” came from his throat. Then he reached forward and briefly clasped each boy by the hand. Dan gaped at him – and suddenly remembered that Cherokees were not like other Indians. They greeted strangers as white men did.
    Dan pointed to the fish. If they would sit down to rest and eat with them, all would be well. If they did not, he and the Squire might never hope to settle in the Yadkin country.
    Suddenly, jabbering like four delighted schoolboys, the Cherokees squatted about the fire. Four pairs of hands reached out and plucked fish from the coals. Dan opened his bag of parched corn and George produced a precious cake of maple sugar from his pack. “It looks,” George whispered, grinning, “like ’tis going to be a regular feast.”
    It was, and all present enjoyed it thoroughly. Later a red-stone pipe was produced, solemnly filled, and as solemnly passed around. Each took a single puff, inhaled the smoke slowly to cement the bond of friendship, and silently passed the pipe to the next person. When they were thoroughly satisfied at last, the Cherokees gathered more wood for the fire and sprawled comfortably about it, heads nodding. George stretched beside Dan, his pack under his head.
    “What do you think of ’em, friend Dan?” he asked quietly. “Seems as if they intend to camp with us the rest of the night.”
    “I ain’t quite figgered ’em out yet,” Dan whispered back. “But I reckon they be all right. They sure was hungry.”
    “And so was Mother Washington’s son, George. I’ll have to tell her all about this when I go home. How I met a young fellow named – but you haven't told me who you are yet.”
    “Boone. Dan’l Boone. But everybody calls me Dan.”
    “Well,” George murmured, “I’m mighty thankful I met you – and that you know a thing or two about fishing. I just hope we can find Brent and Tucker in the morning. I – I feel sort of uneasy about them.”
    “Oh, we’ll find ’em without no trouble,” Dan assured him. “I reckon they’re campin’ with the Squire right now.”
    “If Mother could see her son now,” thought George, “she’d faint. If I hadn’t met a young fellow named Daniel Boone, who knows a thing or two about fishing....”
    Dan, tired as he was, lay awake a long time, long into the night, staring dreamily beyond the figures of the sleeping Cherokees into the campfire. He was thinking of the high wall of blue mountains he had seen toward the west that morning, and wondering what lay beyond. It was a mystery no white man knew anything about. Well – and some day soon now – he would cross that wall and find out for himself.
    His thoughts swung back to the four sleeping Indians, and then he frowned. They worried him more than he had admitted to George. They had been watching him all day – of that he was certain. Their villages, the Squire had told him, were far to the southwest. What could have brought them here? Of course, they could be part of a hunting party, though this did not seem likely. Hunters would have carried more weapons and left their pretty feathers at home.
    Could they be out scouting – or looking for someone?
    Dan fell into a troubled sleep, and in his sleep he dreamed of Frenchmen from Quebec.

Chapter 2: Tandy Walker
    The night was filled with small sounds. There was the croaking of frogs along the creek, the singing of insects, and occasional splashings where a coon hunted in the shallows. A fox barked downstream, and the dark rang with the wavering cries of whippoorwills. From somewhere up on the ridge came the lonely hooting of an owl.
    Dan awoke several times, listening without being aware that he did so. Finally he rolled over on his elbow, fully awake. There was something about the night that was not quite the way it should be.
    It was still black, though from the amount of ashes smothering the fire he knew dawn must be near. While he looked curiously at the still figures of the Cherokees, he wondered if it had been a real owl he had heard, or a human one. Not many people could tell the difference.
    The Indians appeared sound asleep, all three of them. But – hadn’t there been four last evening? The memory brought him up on his knees, eyes darting quickly about the campfire. There were only three. The tall one with the bear-claw necklace and tuft of red feathers was missing.
    The owl began hooting again, rapidly. He listened to it carefully this time. “It’s human,” he told himself. “An’ I’m a-thinking it’s got a red skin an’ a string o’ bear claws around its neck.”
    Dan pulled his robe tighter about him and lay back, waiting. Minutes afterward he was aware of a movement off in the darkness. As silently as a panther the missing Cherokee entered the circle of the camp and placed a stick of wood on the embers. His dark eyes met Dan’s troubled blue ones without change of expression.
    Dan pretended to yawn. “I – I thought ’twas you,” he said, speaking more to hide his uneasiness than for any other reason. “But ye nigh had me fooled at first.”
    Bear Claws grunted and sat down. The stick he had brought flared in the coals, and by the light of it Dan saw he was about George’s age – a lean and unusually handsome youth whose skin, like bright polished gold, glistened from its coating of bear tallow. These Cherokees were so different from other Indians he had seen. Their skins were lighter, and they were as tall as the tallest white men.
    The Indian youth grunted again. “I go get wood,” he said quietly. “What you think mebbe you hear?”
    Dan stared at him incredulously. “You-you speak English?”
    “Sure. I live long time with trader. Good man. Teach me plenty much. Him dead now.”
    “But – but why didn’t ye talk to us when ye first come?”
    The black eyes twinkled mischievously. “Him what speak little hear much. I listen an’ learn lot about you.”
    “Oh!” Dan blinked at him a moment, then grinned. “Well! Ain’t you the smart one! But ye’ve kinda got the edge on me. I don’t know nothin’ a-tall about you – not e’en your name. What do folks call ye?”
    “I got plenty name – some I earn, some others give me. Trader he call me Tandy. Tandy Walker.”
    “That’s easy to remember. I – I’m right glad to know ye, Tandy.” Dan rubbed a patch of freckles on his jaw, as he always did when he was thinking hard. “You must have some more friends about,” he said, “or ye wouldn’t be up so early iriakin’ owl-talk to ’em. Oh, I knowed ’twas you – I got good ears.”
    “Huh, you plenty smart too,” said Tandy. “Sure – I make owl-talk – but you first white one I no fool. And what for do I make owl-talk? Ha – mebbe it because I am a mighty big owl myself!” And Tandy solemnly flapped his elbows as if they were wings.
    Dan had to laugh in spite of himself. Tandy Walker was clever, and in a friendly fashion he was letting it be known that he did not care to be questioned too closely about the owl business. There must be other Cherokees near, for certainly Tandy had been signaling to someone. Telling him what?
    The thought brought back Dan’s uneasiness. He needed Tandy’s friendship if he could get it, and he wished he had something in his pack to offer as a gift. But there was not a thing. Suddenly he remembered the articles the Squire carried in one of the pouches at his belt – little mirrors, some small steel knives, strings of tiny colored beads – all intended as peace offerings to any Indians they chanced to meet.
    “Say,” Dan began. “As soon as it’s light enough to travel, how ’bout comin’ with me an’ meetin’ my paw? I know he’d kinda like to talk to you, an’—”
    He stopped, for Tandy was paying no attention to him. Tandy was up on his knees, rigid, listening. It was now that Dan realized the other Indians were awake, and that they were all looking fixedly at Tandy. Only George slept on.
    Then Dan heard it. It was far away, miles away – but there was no mistaking what it was. The high, sharp sound of rifles being fired.
    Just half a dozen shots perhaps, then silence.
    Tandy Walker rose swiftly to his feet. His hand went out and touched Dan’s shoulder. “Wata” he said hurriedly, “we go now.” And before Dan had time to say a word, all four Indians had vanished like smoke in the darkness. There was hardly a sound to tell which way they had gone.
    It all happened so quickly, so unexpectedly, that Dan could only stand there gaping, dazedly rubbing the patch of freckles on his cheek. In his mind was a confusion of questions that seemed to have only one answer.
    The wilderness was no longer friendly. Danger had come to it.
    Abruptly he stooped beside George and shook him awake. “Git up!” he cried. “Git up!”
    George bounded upright, startled, his rifle in his hands. “Eh? What’s the matter? W-what’s happened?”
    “I don’t know. I hyeared shots, an’ then Tandy an’ them others went a-skitterin’ off like a flock o’ deer. An’ jest before that I caught Tandy makin’ owl-talk. I can’t figger—”
    “Now hold on a moment, young fellow,” George interrupted. “Let’s get this straight. Who’s Tandy? What’s this about owl-talk?”
    Dan told all that he knew. George listened carefully. Then: “Could you tell which direction the shots came from?”
    Dan pointed. “Seems like they was way over the ridge behind us – about where I figger the Squire an’ your friends must be. You-you reckon they’re in trouble?”
    George stared absently into the dark, frowning. “Hm... If anything’s wrong, it’s hardly from Indians. I don’t believe the Cherokees are up to any mischief, or we’d have been in trouble ourselves. Maybe they were just signaling to let us know where they are.”
    “The Squire wouldn’t do no signaling till daylight. Besides, it-it sounded more like fightin’. The shots come quick an’ fast – too fast for jest three men to load an’ fire.”
    “You forget the echoes,” said George. “If they’re up there in a ravine among the rocks, two shots would sound like a regiment in action. Probably they disturbed a she-bear with cubs. There’s nothing meaner.”
.     George set his rifle down and began fumbling about for more wood. “Anyhow, friend Dan, there’s not a thing we can do about it till it’s light enough to travel and follow a trail. We’re not cats in the dark like Tandy and his friends. So, what d’you say to building a fire over by the creek, finding a few of those beetles, and catching our breakfast? Trout bite pretty well at night I’ve heard.”
    “We kin try it,” Dan said doubtfully. “But don’t let them little speckled fish fool ye. They’re as contrary as Injins.”
    * * *
    Dan was right. They tried beetles first, then dug about on the creek bank for worms and grubs. The trout did not care for any of their offerings. Yet the trout were there – dozens of them, as Dan could easily see by holding a torch over the clear water.
    “We got to catch ’em somehow,” he mumbled, “’cause they’s the only thing around here to eat. Tandy an’ his friends plum’ cleaned us out o’ vittles – an’ we’ve got a right smart piece o’ walkin’ ahead of us. Well, that’s more’n one way to skin a varmint, as Paw says.”
    “What do you mean?” George asked.
    “Jest hold that there torch over yonder where the water swirls ’round them roots. That’s right – now keep it steady, an’ I’ll show ye.”
    Dan lay belly down on the bank. Cautiously his hand crept deep behind the roots. He gave a sudden quick movement; there was a splash, and something fell flopping at George’s feet. “That’s what Paw calls finger fishin’,” Dan explained, tossing a second trout at the astonished George. “You watch for ’em in a hole, then sneak up quietlike an’ grab ’em in the gills when they’re thinkin’ about something else. O’ course, ye gotta be quick.”
    The blackness was beginning to turn gray as they sat down to eat. By the time they had finished there was enough light for Dan to begin picking their way slowly through the woods. As the dawn brightened and the footprints they had made the evening before became a little easier to see, he began to hurry.
    George was puzzled. “Are you sure you’re heading in the right direction?” he asked once. “I can’t remember winding around like this yesterday.”
    “You walked plum’ all over the wilderness country yestiddy,” Dan answered. “We got to go back the way we come, or we’ll git lost for sure.” And getting lost in here would be mighty easy, too – a lot easier than he cared to think about. Everything looked the same in this deep gray twilight under the trees. It would not be much better even after the sun rose, for the sun seldom shone through the dense tangle of leaves and branches overhead.
    He was much relieved when they reached the main creek and crossed it. He knew where they were now, and they had only to follow along the bank until they came to the spot where he and the Squire had separated. After that it would be merely a matter of following the Squire’s trail over the next ridge and going on down to the Yadkin.
    “I was jest a-thinkin’,” said Dan. “You bein’ a surveyor an’ all – ain’t you got a compass with you?”
    “I had one, but I made Tucker take it with him yesterday. Never dreamed I’d—”
    “Aw, anybody kin git turned around in this kind o’ country,” Dan hastened to say. “Thar was a couple o’ times on the way down when the Squire got kinda bewildered himself. But I won’t tell anybody about it – if’n that’s what’s a-worryin’ ye.”
    “’Twasn't worrying me, young fellow. It’s just that
    I’m the leader of the party, you see, and—”
    “Oh, so you’re the head man! You must have a heap o’ lamin’!”
    George laughed. “Surveying’s not hard. We use a compass and a telescope mounted on a tripod, and just take sights from one hill to the next. Then one of the crew measures the distance with a length of chain. I do the figuring and the others do the sweating.”
    “You have to do the worryin’ too.”
    “Sure – and I’ve been doing plenty of that lately. This business is turning out to be a lot bigger job than Lord Fairfax or any of us ever dreamed it would be.”
    “It-it’s Lord Fairfax ye’re doin’ the surveyin’ for?”
    “Yeah. We’re trying to mark off the boundaries of his grant. Been at it over a year already – and I reckon it’ll take at least two more years to finish.”
    “Golly! He must own nigh all the wilderness country!”
    “Well, His Majesty gave him a mighty big slice of it. As large as a colony. But it doesn’t reach as far as the Yadkin. I’m just down here with a couple scouts to map some of the rivers so we won’t make any mistakes. My main party is four or five days’ march to the north.”
    They reached an open glade and Dan peered worriedly up at the small patch of sky high overhead. It must be long after sunrise now, though there was no sign of sunlight on the treetops. A gray leaden mist hung close. It looked like rain.
    Dan went faster now, his wiry legs swinging to a steady trot that he could keep up for miles. George followed without a word. Both boys realized the need for hurry. A hard rain would wipe out every trace of the Squire’s trail. If that happened, it might take hours to find him after they reached the river.
    When he came to the spot where he and the Squire had parted yesterday, Dan stopped just long enough to study the ground for fresh footprints. The only new tracks were those made by deer during the night. Satisfied, Dan swung onward.
    The creek banks began to rise sharply, and suddenly the trail vanished in a dark region of tumbled rocks, where giant hemlocks leaned over the water and almost hid it in shadow. Dan crawled along the rocks, searching carefully until he found faint scratches where a rifle butt had dragged. They led down to the creek, and he went splashing across. The trail was plainer on the other side. It swung away from the stream, going at an angle up the steep ground to his left.
    Already a drizzling rain was beginning to drip through the branches. The two climbed steadily, nor did they stop for rest until they had gained the high crest of the ridge.
    Dan’s breath was coming in short, painful gasps as he reached the top, and his heart was pounding as if it would burst. But these things were forgotten in his eagerness to see the country that lay beyond the ridge. The Yadkin would be out there somewhere – a gleaming silver ribbon winding through the dark green of forested hills. Perhaps he would even be able to glimpse part of the land he and the Squire had come so far to see.
    He peered out beyond the crowding trees, then rubbed his eyes and stared. Something was wrong. Below him was a small valley, and instead of the river he had expected, there was only a black tangle of laurel and rhododendron. A few hundred yards away rose another slope, and beyond this were still others, much higher and farther away and dim in the gray rain. Mountains!
    Dan wiped moisture from his face with a hand that was not quite steady. “Well, I’ll be hornswoggled!” he muttered. “I can’t quite figger what could o’ happened to the river. By rights it ought to be below us, but I don’t understand—”
    “Maybe Tandy and his friends moved it a little farther south,” George offered amiably. “Where do we go from here?”
    “Where Brent an’ Tucker went. See? There’s Paw’s tracks a-follerin’ ’em.”
    “Not down through all that tangle!”
    “Yep, an’ on up the next ridge, I reckon. Mebbe the Yadkin’s hid over on the other side. Anyhow, we got to follow where they went.”
    They started, downward, tripping, crashing and plunging through the tight growth of shrubs. The upward slope was worse. Ledges of rock barred the way, and in some places the rhododendron was so thick that it seemed as if a snake would have a hard time squirming through it.
    Long before he reached the top, Dan had lost all sense of time. He drew himself painfully over the last ledge, panting and nearly exhausted, and lay staring at the new vista spreading away ahead. A dim sea of treetops met his eyes; a few scattered ridges stood above it like islands; curving around it on his right, gray and ghostly in the rain, rose the first line of mountains.
    Nowhere in that sweep of country was there the least sign of a river.
    The sky was darkening; a high wind swept across the ridge, flinging rain in their faces. Suddenly thunder boomed and echoed around them like the rolling of savage war drums; the rain became a furious, blinding downpour that blotted everything from sight. Dan looked wildly around for shelter. He saw an overhanging shelf of rock and crawled quickly under it. George came scrambling after him. They crouched together, wet through and shivering from the cold. For a long time neither said a word.
    They would follow no more trails today. This storm would wipe out every track in the wilderness.
    Once George asked: “Got any idea where we are, friend Dan?”
    “Mister,” said Dan, “if’n I was an iggle an’ had wings, I’d tell ye right off. But the best I kin do now is to say that we’re on the edge o’ the mountings, somewhere in Caroliny.”

Chapter 3: Lost
    It had turned almost as dark as night. Through the sheets of rain Dan could see forked lightning dancing across the rocks. With every crash the ground seemed to shake under him, and a strange tingling ran up his fingers and brought a prickling in his scalp. It was his first experience with a mountain storm, and it frightened him. Below them a boulder broke loose from the damp earth and went rumbling downward, gathering rocks and more earth and smashing through trees as if they were sticks. Dan, white and shaken, listened to the roar of it, and then crawled out from his shelter to peer curiously at the great gash cut in the side of the ridge.
    The rain lessened and then stopped abruptly; off toward the mountains the clouds parted, and sunbeams slanted down in a shaft of golden light. It was long after midday.
    George studied the ridge behind him, then his worried eyes swept the country to the south. “Do you remember which way they went from here, friend Dan?”
    “The last tracks I seen was headin’ straight down the slope. They’re out yonder somewhere.” And Dan motioned with his staff at the vast, tumbled expanse of forest stretching away at his feet. “They-they can’t be far away.”
    “But I don’t believe the Yadkin is out there, young fellow. At least we can’t see it from this point. And if Brent and Tucker couldn’t find it, they’d be turning back by this time. Don’t you think we’d better stay here and wait for ’em?”
    “If’n they was goin’ to come back, we’d a-met ’em by now. They’ve either found the river an’ are waitin’ till we come, or-or they’re in trouble.”
    “Oh, don’t let those shots worry you. It was probably some of Tandy’s friends shooting.”
    “Them shots come from off in there – jest about where Brent an’ Tucker would be campin’ last night if’n they’d followed the lay o’ the land. As the crow flies, it ain’t such a far stretch from where we was – but with the way the land curves it’s a considerable piece o’ walkin’. I gigger Paw didn’t have time to catch up with ’em last evenin’; an’ this mornin’, well—” Dan swallowed, then went on: “Anyhow, we got to hurry an’ find ’em if we can.”
    They started downward, circling carefully around the area where the landslide had scarred the ridge. There was a game trail at the bottom, and Dan set out along this, hoping that the others might have taken the same route.
    The great trees closed over their heads, and the sky and the sun vanished. The trail twisted around windfalls and boulders; it dipped in and out of ravines and wound through dark tangles where ferns grew waist-high. Dan lost all sense of direction.
    Suddenly he saw a glimmer of sunlight ahead. Pressing onward, he found himself abruptly on the edge of a small marshy meadow where a tiny stream crept snakelike through the grass. A small herd of woods buffalo wallowed among the reeds. Nearer, a bull elk raised his great antlered head, snorted, and plunged swiftly out of sight in the forest shadows. The buffalo stared uncertainly at the white strangers, then moved lazily to the other side of the meadow.
    “Gad!” George whispered, fingering his rifle. “What a sight for a hunter! Here's our chance to get some fresh meat, young fellow.”
    “Don’t try it,” Dan cautioned. “A buffalo is mighty hard to kill, an’ your rifle ain’t loaded for it. If’n ye wound one it might bring the hull herd a-chargin’ at us. Besides, we better not risk no shots till we find out what happened to the Squire an’ the others.”
    George frowned. “Then what had we better do now? There seem to be several game trails leading away from here.”
    Dan squatted on his heels, studying the meadow and the dark woods. He was terribly tired, and hungrier than he had been for days. A feeling of hopelessness was creeping over him that was hard to shake off.
    “I was wonderin’,” he said, “if the Yadkin could be out yonder ahead of us some place. D’ye reckon we might a-missed seein’ it when we was back on the ridge?”
    “It’s possible,” George answered. “It depends on the size of the river and the kind of country it flows through. If it’s narrow, with deep banks, it could very easily be hidden by the forest. Did the Squire tell you what his land looked like?”
    “The feller he bought it from said it was a little valley that opened on the river. The middle was all meadow like this’n, an’ there was a steep bluff on the east side. He was a hunter an’ trapper, an’ he had his cabin built under the bluff.”
    “Then the place wouldn’t be hard to find – once we locate the river. Now, it’s just a couple of hours till sundown. Suppose you scout out that trail to the right, and I’ll take the one down here. It’ll save time, and we can meet here at the edge of the meadow just before dark.”
    “Well,” said Dan, “I – I reckon that’s about as good a plan as any. But—”
    “But what?”
    “Ye-ye won’t go an’ git yourself lost again?”
    George laughed. “I’ll be careful.”
    “All right. But don’t go too far, will ye? It looks like it’s a-goin’ to rain again. If somethin’ happens an’ your tracks git washed out, I’ll have a time a-findin’ ye.”
    “I’ll keep my eyes open, and take no chances,” George promised.
    “An’ if my trail don’t lead no place, I’ll turn back an’ follow ye. I’ll holler like a whippoorwill so ye’ll know it’s me a-comin’. Good luck to ye.”
    “Same to you, young fellow.”
    Troubled, Dan watched him swing away along the edge of the meadow. As George’s tall figure vanished in the shadows of the hemlocks, he had the sudden feeling that the two of them were making a mistake, and that it would be better if they remained together.
    He took a deep breath, grasped his staff a little tighter, and started off in the opposite direction.
    * * *
    It did not take Dan long to realize that this new trail would never lead him to the Yadkin. A short distance beyond the meadow it began to turn at an upward angle to higher ground. Doubtless it continued on into the mountains.
    Uncertain, however, he kept on for a little while longer, his eyes searching carefully for an ax mark or some other sign that men had been through here. He found nothing.
    Perhaps George had had better luck on the other trail.
    He turned to retrace his steps, and now he was met by the slow patter of rain that began to drip through the branches. With an effort he forced his tired feet into a run.
    The buffalo were still grazing peacefully when he reached the meadow. George had not returned, but of course it was too early for him to be back yet. With great care Dan circled the herd, and gaining the forest on the other side, began hurrying down the trail where George had gone. He gave the whippoorwill cry as he went.
    Twisting away through the shadows to his right was the brook that led from the meadow. It was high and muddy from the storm. Soon it dipped into a ravine that ran nearly bankfull with a swirling brown flood from the hills, George’s trail followed the edge of the ravine.
    Wearily Dan plodded on. With every turn of the trail he peered hopefully ahead, expecting to see George returning. His feet began to drag, and the shadows turned deeper with evening. Still there was no sign of George.
    Dan stopped, shivering in the drizzling rain. He gave the whippoorwill signal, then listened. He waited and called again. There was no answer.
    “Well,” he said to himself, “there ain’t no use in goin’ farther. It’s nigh dark. I ought to make camp an’ try to git a fire goin’. Mebbe, by that time....”
    To his right a great tree had partly fallen over a clump of boulders. There was dry ground between the rocks, with space enough for both George and himself. It was as good a spot as any for a camp. A fire at the entrance would make it snug and warm and safe against animals.
    Making a fire, though, was not going to be easy.
    He gathered a pile of dead limbs and then crawled back under the boulders, searching for dry twigs. Choosing the lightest of these, he split them with his knife and began scraping the ends. Soon he had a little pile of wood dust and fine shavings. Now from his pack he took out a small object carefully wrapped in oiled parchment. It was a tinderbox. In it were flint and steel and a wad of dry flax.
    He pinched off a tuft of the flax and painstakingly began striking the flint and steel over it. The sparks flew in all directions, but finally one of them fell upon the flax and began to smolder. Dan caught it up instantly, puffed on it till the smoke rose, then thrust it quickly under the pile of shavings. He fanned it to a flame. In a little while a fire was burning cheerfully between the rocks.
    All through the day Dan had not had much time to think of food. Now he realized how terribly hungry he had become. There was no chance of catching fish in the muddy ravine, but the thickets beyond the fallen tree seemed like a good place for grouse and rabbits.
    From his pouch he took half a dozen pieces of waxed cord with loops in the ends. Making a running noose of each, he set them expertly in the rabbit runs along the edges of the thickets. This done, he gathered more wood for the fire, then stripped off his sodden buckskins and hung them on a stick to dry.
    He was unrolling his deerskin robe when he heard a small threshing sound in the thickets. He threw the robe about his shoulders and ran out to the snares. In the second one was a grouse.
    By the time Dan had finished resetting the snare and rolling the grouse in a lump of clay scooped from the ravine, twilight had come. Dark, he knew, would follow swiftly here in the shadow of the mountains.
    Worried now, he dug a hollow by the fire, buried the grouse in it, and raked a bed of coals over the top so it would bake. He sat back listening, frowning. What could be keeping George?
    All at once it was night. Black, dark night, and still no sign of George. Dan crept from the shelter. Twice, three times, he gave the wavering whippoorwill signal. He waited, then called again and again.
    At last he built the fire up higher and crawled back under the rocks. Drawing his deerskin robe tight about him, he huddled in a corner of the boulders, knees drawn under his chin, while he stared fearfully off into the gloom beyond the firelight.
    Slowly his shoulders drooped from weariness. The fire burned lower. Once it flared up as a stick burned through and fell into the coals. Then it slowly died to a dull red glow. Dan did not build it up again. He was curled against the angle of the rocks, asleep with the deep sleep of utter exhaustion.
    Somewhere off in the night an owl began hooting. Nearer, small things scurried in the underbrush. In the runs where Dan had set the snares, a rabbit began to kick frantically. In the branches overhead a ruffed grouse squawked sleepily. Down along the ravine a roving panther stopped to listen and to test the scents borne by the night breeze. On silent padded feet he crept warily toward the snared rabbit.
    Near the embers of the campfire the panther paused, peering curiously at the still form curled under the rocks. Kittenlike, he brushed his whiskers with one paw, then circled carefully away from the spot before investigating the sounds in the rabbit run.
    The rapid gobbling of a turkey awoke Dan at dawn. Like everyone who has spent his life in the woods, all drowsiness left him the moment he rolled over and opened his eyes. He lay there a few seconds, listening and sniffing the sweetness of early morning while he peered out at the misty forest beyond his shelter.
    Then he realized that George had not returned.
    He swallowed, fighting back the sudden fear that crept through him, and with lips pressed a little tighter than usual, gathered his robe about him and crawled outside. He had had nothing to eat since yesterday morning; it made him feel lightheaded and a little sick in his stomach. But at the moment he was too worried about George to think of food.
    What should he do now?
    The only sensible thing was to follow the stream and look for George. The one thing he must not do was to allow himself to become afraid. Fear, the Squire had once said, could get a fellow into more trouble than anything else in the world. When you get scared you are unable to think – and when you are alone in the wilderness you have to keep your wits about you all the time.
    He shivered suddenly in the chill dawn, then saw his buckskins hanging near the remains of the fire where he had placed them to dry. Before putting them on, he went to the ravine to wash. The water had gone down during the night, and the small stream at the bottom was running clear again. He drank quickly, splashed the ice-cold water over his face and body, then slapped his tingling skin dry and ran back and pulled on his clothes.
    His stomach felt funny, and he realized he was terribly hungry. Suddenly he remembered the grouse buried under the coals, and turned eagerly to dig it up. For the first time he noticed the large round tracks of the panther circling the rocks.
    At the sight of them he went rigid. “Golly!” he muttered. “He sure came close! An’ a big varmint, too. I’d feel a heap better if’n I had a rifle.”
    His eyes darted about, following the direction of the tracks. “Why, ye big thievin’ devil, if’n ye’ve robbed my snares....”
    He ran to the thicket. One glance told him the worst . There had been a rabbit in one snare, a grouse in another. All that remained of them now were a few feathers, a few tufts of fur.
    Gathering his snares, he went glumly back and dug up the baked bird. When he broke the clay shell and threw it aside, he found the flesh cooked dry and so hard that he could hardly eat it.
    It was a bad beginning for a very bad day.

Chapter 4: The Wounded Man
    Shouldering his pack and grasping his staff resolutely, Dan gave his camping place a last inspection and then set out along the bank of the ravine. Wrapped carefully in his robe was half the grouse, which he was saving for George.
    One of two things must have happened: George had run into trouble of some kind, or he had missed the trail.
    Dan tried not to think of the many things that would fit the first explanation. He clung to the hope that George had merely lost his way again, had taken the wrong branch of the creek, and that dark had caught him before he realized his mistake. That would be very easy to do, for the stream probably had several branches within the next half-mile.
    Dan stopped when he reached the first fork. It came in from the left. George, following the left bank, might have forgotten that he should have crossed here.
    He leaped to the other side and began studying the ground carefully. The rain, of course, had washed away all footprints. But if someone had passed here recently, there ought to be a few small signs remaining – broken sprays of foliage, dislodged pebbles, perhaps a crushed stalk of grass. Eyes watchful, he went up the fork a few yards. He could find no signs of any kind.
    Disappointed, he turned back to the main stream and hurried onward. Once he glanced up at a small patch of sky. It looked like more rain. Would the weather ever turn clear and warm?
    He passed three more forks, and each time he stopped and searched for signs before going on. The country had changed considerably by now, and the creek had widened. It wound in every direction through the crowded darkness of great tree trunks and tangled branches, and twisted back in loops so that it was hard to tell where it was flowing. He was in a forest of huge hardwoods.
    Suddenly it was raining again – the cold drizzling kind of rain that keeps up for hours.
    Dan halted, wet through and trembling in the cold. Behind him was a giant tulip tree whose leaning trunk offered shelter. He crouched down against it, pressing his thin body in the dry space between the curving roots. He was suddenly afraid again, and thoroughly miserable. Where he was he had not the slightest idea. He knew only that somehow he had missed George.
    The Squire had once said, “When ye’re plum’ tuckered an’ sore pressed, jest take things easy a spell an’ have a bite to eat. A man can’t think when he’s hungry.”
    Dan opened his pack and got out the remains of the grouse. The cold, hard-baked flesh had little flavor, and he found that he had lost his appetite anyway. His mouth trembled, and tears began to mingle with the raindrops on his cheek.
    He shook himself angrily. He was acting just like a fool kid – and here he was fourteen years old and nigh grown up to man size! Tearing the grouse apart, he went after it determinedly, nor did he stop until he had picked the last bone. He felt a great deal better when he had finished.
    And now? Well, George could not be so terribly far away. Nor the Squire and the two members of George’s party. And just as near, no doubt, were Tandy Walker and his braves.
    He felt sure the Cherokees were trying to watch every move made by the white strangers.
    “I wonder what would happen,” he asked himself, “if’n I was to git up an’ start hootin’ like an’ owl? Bet I could locate Tandy or some o’ them Injins inside an hour.”
    But he was not ready to call Tandy yet. It would be better to save that until everything else had failed. Remembering the signal he had arranged with George, he got up and sent a cry wavering through the forest.
    There was no answer. Finally he cupped his hands about his mouth, bent low over the ground, and gave a long-drawn Hallo-o-o-o! that he ended by raising and lowering his head slowly. It was a trick that gave the call a peculiar rolling sound, carrying a great distance. When finished he lay with one ear near the ground, listening.
    No one answered him. Nor was there any far-off shot from a rifle to indicate that he had been heard.
    He was afraid to give the call over again for fear it would reach the wrong ears – if it had not done so already.
    Dan sat down again. He scratched a chigger bite behind his left ear, and thoughtfully rubbed the patch of freckles on his cheek.
    It would be only a waste of time to turn back and look for George. All trails were lost in the rain, and with small streams flowing into the main creek from every direction, he and George might wander around for days and never come within sound of each other.
    No, the only place he could be sure of finding anyone was on the Yadkin. And the Yadkin....
    “Hit must be close,” reasoned Dan. “Hit’s bound to be. An’ the big fellow, he’ll try an’ make for it when he can’t find me. Now, let’s figger a spell an’ git my directions straightened out.”
    North, of course, would be on the shady side of the trees, where moss and lichens grew greenest. Only there was no shady side to these huge wilderness trees. Everything was so thick overhead that the sun could not filter through the leaves. And it was raining now anyway.
    Still, he studied the trunks carefully. And looking far overhead, he found that some of the trees were a little greener on one side in areas where the light could reach them. That would be north.
    The Yadkin would be in the other direction. And if this creek flowed into it, the easiest course would be to follow the creek downstream to the river. The creek, though, seemed to be flowing the wrong way. It was very bewildering country.
    “Hmm!” Dan muttered to himself. “I’m a-goin’ to head straight south till I find me another high ridge. An’ if’n I can’t see the Yadkin from there, well—” Well, he would just have to come out and admit that he was really lost.
    Before starting out, he cut a stick and thrust it into the creek bank, bending the top to point in the direction he was taking. If George ever came by here, he would see the stick and know which way to go.
    After leaving the creek, Dan was careful to mark his trail by snapping off small sprays of foliage from the shrubbery as he passed. He felt safer doing this. Even if George did not follow the trail, he might want to return to the creek himself if he could not find a ridge.
    He found a ridge sooner than he had expected. The ground began to slope sharply upward again, and in a sudden rise of hope he pushed on faster.
    Then all at once he stepped dead in his tracks, staring with widening eyes at a long mark on the ground.
    It looked as if a rifle butt had been dragged through the leaves. Beyond it was the faint impression of a moccasined foot.
    Someone had passed here just a little while ago.
    Dan instantly forgot his weariness and the cold rain. These footprints were close together, stumbling, as if the man who had made them walked only with the greatest effort. He had been supporting himself on his rifle. The man was hurt, for here and there on the leaves was a small spot of crimson that had not yet been washed out by the rain.
    Lips tight, Dan studied the marks made by the rifle. It was not a trade gun such as the Indians sometimes carried. The weapon had a deeply curved butt. A white man’s rifle.
    Could it be the Squire? Or George? No, the Squire’s tracks were smaller, more pointed. These footprints had been made by a much larger man, larger even than George. One of George’s friends? In sudden fear Dan remembered the shots he had heard while camping with Tandy. Something terrible must have happened then.
    Swiftly, quietly, he followed the wounded man’s trail.
    The tracks curved around the side of the ridge, becoming more uncertain with every step. Here the man had fallen, had finally struggled to his feet and leaned a while against this big oak. Yonder he had fallen again. Unable to rise this time, he had crawled off toward that huckleberry thicket. He must be badly hurt, for he was too weak to drag his rifle. It lay there in the leaves.
    Dan picked it up. It was a beautiful weapon much like the Squire’s, finely polished and inlaid with silver. Dan glanced at it briefly, for his attention was on the thicket.
    Suddenly he went plunging through the bushes to stoop beside a large figure in fringed buckskins, sprawled face down on the ground.
    “Hey, mister!” he cried. “What’s happened? Are ye—”
    He was answered by a feeble moan. The stranger was still alive, though barely conscious. His hunting shirt was sodden with blood. Near the top of the right shoulder was a torn spot that looked as if it had been made by an arrow. It was a bad flesh wound, but too high to be dangerous except through loss of blood.
    This was not the first arrow wound Dan had seen in his life. Several times in the past he had watched his mother take care of men after an Indian attack, and he knew exactly what should be done now.
    He unstrapped the stranger’s pack, stripped off the hunting shirt, and with swift, nimble fingers went to work.
    * * *
    For the rest of that day Dan was busier than he had ever been in his life. He constructed a rude shelter, built a fire, and twice that afternoon made long trips back to a spring near the creek to fill the stranger’s canteen.
    The wound itself gave him little trouble. After washing it carefully in hot water, he stopped the bleeding by stretching half a dozen spider webs over the two openings made by the arrow, and then bound the shoulder with a pair of kerchiefs taken from the stranger’s pack.
    While Dan had been busily engaged in so much activity, the wounded man had not spoken a word, although he seemed to have recovered from his half-conscious state. Now the hot food apparently gave him strength. Dan had found tea in the other’s pack, and enough meal for a good mess of journey cakes. Comfortably wrapped in Dan’s robe, he lay back by the fire, head propped against a log while he watched Dan clean the hunting shirt and hang it up to dry.
    He was a big, heavy-shouldered man with a bristling yellow beard and a great mane of tangled yellow hair that flared out from under his coonskin cap. He had fierce blue eyes with little crinkles in the corners as if he could enjoy a good joke. But he was in no mood for laughing now.
    Dan did not blame him. He smiled and said, “I figger ye must be either Mister Tucker or Mister Brent.”
    “I’m Jeremy Tucker,” growled the big man, almost angrily. “Though I don’t know how ye lamed my name. Faith,” he spat, “ye’d think I was a mewling two-year-old, to let a devilish little thing like a feathered stick o’ wood git me down. Will ye look at me! Here lies Jeremy Tucker, weak as a milk-fed, silk-coated—”
    “Ye lost a heap o’ blood,” Dan interrupted soothingly. “Hit’s a wonder ye ain’t nigh dead. What happened to the arrer?”
    “An’ what in tarnation do ye think happened to it?” grumbled Tucker. “‘If’n thine right eye offend thee, pluck it out.’ Sure, the plaguy thing was stickin’ clean through my shoulder, so I broke the head off’n it an’ yanked it out. Why shouldn’t I? An’ if’n I ever git my hands on the low-down, conniving, red-skinned son of a singed polecat what shot it at me, I’ll lift his hair so high he’ll never be able to find it in the other world!”
    Dan held back his laughter. “It-it was an Injin shot ye?
    “Faith, an’ who d’ye think it was – Cupid? What kind of a young un are ye?”
    “I ain’t no young un,” said Dan. “I’m fourteen an’ nigh growed. But I can’t understand no Injin in these parts a-shootin’ ye, ’cause I met four o’ them t’other night an’ they acted right peaceable. How-how did it happen?”
    Feebly, the big man reached out with his huge paw and touched Dan’s arm. “Ye-ye got to kinda overlook the way I’m actin’, son,” he said. “Hit always makes me mad when I can’t stand up on my own two feet. An’ when I think about what’s happened an’ me unable to do nothin’ about it on account of a fool arrer scratch in my skin, hit jest naturally gits me more riled up than a hornet. Don’t think I ain’t grateful to ye for helpin’ me, son. I’m mighty grateful. Some o’ these days – but who are ye? An’ how did ye larn my name?”
    “George told me. He—”
    “George!” Tucker struggled to sit up. “What-how-where’s George now?”
    “Easy,” Dan cautioned. “Don’t start that bleedin’ again. I was campin’ with George when we hyeared them shots. Figgered something was mighty wrong. I’m Squire Boone’s son, Dan.” And quickly he told Jeremy Tucker all about himself and the Squire, and how he had found George and become separated from him.
    “Now,” said Dan. “Let’s hear what happened to you. Did ye git a look at them Injins what shot ye?”
    “I didn’t git a good look at nothin’,” grumbled Tucker. “’Twas a dark night, an’ it happened so sudden. This bein’ strange country an’ all, Jody Brent an’ me was takin’ turns watchin’ durin’ the night. Funny thing, ’twas Jody’s turn to watch. Jody Brent, he’s a smart un; ain’t never failed to smell a redskin a mile off – an’ how them varmints ever sneaked up with him a-watchin’ is something I can’t understand. First thing I knowed, Jody had kicked me awake an’ we was both tearin’ off through the dark with the air full o’ flyin’ lead an’ arrers. But I hadn’t gone ten steps before I hyeared Jody cuss behind me, an’ I knowed he was in trouble.
    “I turned to help him – an’ then that fool arrer smacked me in the shoulder an’ I went a-sprawlin’. Them things kin hit a man harder’n a bullet. In the dark I couldn’t see nothin’, an’ the only thing I could do was to crawl off under some bushes an’ keep quiet. I never hyeared a sound after that. Them rascals jest vanished an’ went back where they come from – an’ they took Jody with ’em. Come daylight an’ I stumbled around to see what I could see – but I couldn’t find nothin’. Jody was gone, our stuff was gone, an’ there warn’t no trail. Them Injins had waded off in the creek we was campin’ by. I was too weak to do anything but try an’ find George. Only I missed George somehow an’ got kinda turned around. An’, well – here I be.”
    Dan stared at him, pale and white-lipped. “Ye-ye ain’t seen the Squire?” he asked unsteadily.
    “I’m mighty sorry, son, but I ain’t seen nary soul. Ye say he come lookin’ for us?”
    Dan nodded. “He started out to find ye, but—”
    Tucker frowned at the rain beyond their shelter. “Hmm – I don’t believe I’d worry none about yo’ paw. Jody Brent an’ me was so almighty curious to locate the Yadkin that we traveled a heap farther than we aimed to the other evenin’. I reckon Squire Boone didn’t have time to catch up with us ’fore night.”
    “He musta hyeared the shots,” said Dan.
    “Sure,” Tucker agreed. “An’ I ’spect as soon as ’twas daylight he come scoutin’ around to find out about things. An’ not seein’ nothin’ at the campin’ place but them footprints leadin’ into the creek, I’m thinkin’ he’d do what anybody else would do. He’d follow the creek till he picked up the trail. An’ then he’d follow the trail a spell to see who was causin' all the mischief. Only, jest about the time he’d be gittin’ started good, along came that big rain an’ messed things up. Er – did he tell ye he’d meet ye over on the Yadkin?”
    “That’s what we agreed on, Mister Tucker.”
    “Don’t call me ‘mister,’ sonny. Everybody calls me Jeremy.”
    “All right – Jeremy.”
    “That’s better. Now, I’ll bet ye a brass shilling ye’ll find yo’ paw a-trompin’ up an’ down the Yadkin, a-wonderin’ why in tarnation ye ain’t there to meet ’im.”
    Dan swallowed. “I – I hope ye’re right. Now, about George....”
    “Hmm – George,” considered Jeremy. “Well, he’s kinda slow at times, but he’s got a pretty level head. He knows water runs downhill, an’ that all the streams this side o’ the big ridge to the north flow into the Yadkin – though there’s some that runs a far piece before doin’ it. So, if’n he don’t locate your marked trail, he’ll jest follow the lay o’ the land till he comes to the river.”
    Dan rubbed the patch of freckles on his cheek and peered out at the rain. Evening had come again.
    Perhaps Jeremy was right. Anyway, it would scarcely help matters to worry. He glanced down at the big man and suddenly realized how Jeremy must feel about Jody Brent. And here was Jeremy, helpless and in pain, trying to look on the brighter side of things and keep up their spirits.
    Dan reached for Jeremy’s tomahawk. “Night’ll be on us in a minute,” he said. “Reckon I’d better git some dry wood. In the mornin’ I’m a-goin’ to borrow your rifle an’ do a little scoutin’.”
    He would have to do a lot more than scouting tomorrow, Dan knew. This was no place for a sick man; Jeremy ought to be in a better camp, near water. And he ought to have fresh meat. As for George and the Squire – Dan tried to keep himself from thinking of them.
    He crept out into the drizzle with the tomahawk and hacked open a rotten log. After he had dragged the dry heartwood into the shelter, he went outside again and set his snares under a windfall near the far edge of the huckleberry patch.
    It was dark when he crawled back in to the shelter and curled up wearily by the fire.

Chapter 5: The Buffalo Hunt
    Dan slept fitfully that night. Several times he got up, put fresh wood on the fire, and had a look at Jeremy. The big man was feverish. Before dawn he began to moan and toss about as if he were in a delirium.
    The rain had stopped. Worriedly Dan blew up the fire and went down to look at his snares. They were empty. Nor were any of the huckleberries ripe enough to eat.
    He came back and crouched by the shelter, fighting back the sudden fears that crept over him while he tried to plan what to do next. He had not realized till now what a responsibility a wounded person can be. Jeremy, in the last few hours, had become a very sick man. There was no use hiding the truth. He would have to go after help – and find it quickly.
    Dan picked up Jeremy’s rifle and threw the powder horn and bullet pouch across his shoulder. Jeremy rolled over with a moan and opened his eyes. He stared dazedly at Dan, his eyes bloodshot and his face flushed with fever.
    “The-the rifle, sonny, don’t forgit. She-she—” Jeremy’s words became an indistinct mumble.
    Dan bent over him. “What is it, Jeremy?”
    “She shoots high,” Jeremy managed to say. “Careful. Ye-ye goin’ huntin’?”
    “I thought I would,” Dan replied. “Don’t worry about nothin’ till I git back. I’ll try not to be long.”
    “L-luck to ye....” The big woodsman closed his eyes. He began to mumble incoherently to himself.
    Dan swallowed, then with a last look at Jeremy he moved swiftly off through the woods.
    He did not immediately climb the ridge. When he was out of sight of camp, he circled back down the misty slope looking for signs. The rain had washed out nearly everything, and it was hard to find even his own trail of last evening.
    Satisfied that no one had come this way but Jeremy and himself, he turned back to the ridge, carefully marking his way by bending small twigs in his path.
    As he neared the top of the slope he was startled by a sudden whirring of wings. A large flock of turkeys flew up directly in front of him, their feathers shimmering green and gold in the pale morning light.
    Dan jerked the heavy rifle to his shoulder. Then he lowered it, remembering that he had not yet taken time to load it. Regretfully he saw the big birds vanish over the crest of the ridge.
    He scrambled upward, gained a flat rock at the top, and was able to see the flock skimming over the treetops in the mist-covered valley below him. They settled in a stand of tall pines at the head of a meadow.
    The mist began to clear, and abruptly the sun cut down, bright and warm. On all sides green-clad mountains tumbled and rose above the ridges. Hopefully his eyes searched for the river. There was no sign of the Yadkin anywhere.
    Disappointed and suddenly sick at heart, Dan sat down to load the rifle and get his breath. He was glad now that he had not been able to shoot. The sound of it would carry a long way up here on the ridge, and the wrong ears might hear it.
    He shook out a measure of powder from the horn and poured it into the rifle barrel. He had selected a well-rounded bullet from the pouch when his eyes strayed along the curve of the valley to the meadow. The meadow was dotted with animals grazing shoulder-deep in the grass – a large herd of woods buffalo.
    Dan poured an extra measure of powder into the rifle and rammed the bullet in carefully. Then, fixing the lay of the land in his mind, he started downward.
    He had never shot a buffalo, nor was he sure he wanted to try it now. But it was best to be prepared, and broth made from the fresh meat of a buffalo calf would do Jeremy more good than anything else. First, though, he decided to follow the valley a few miles in the hope that it led to the Yadkin. If he could not find the river by midday, then he would turn back. Jeremy was too sick to be left alone at night.
    Dan was halfway to the valley when he came out upon a ledge. Here an unbroken wall of rock dropped straight away for fifty feet or more. There seemed to be no way down.
    He crept along the edge of it until he was nearly opposite the meadow, searching for handholds or a ravine that would take him to the valley.
    The cliff projected far out at this point, and he could see how it curved for a half-mile or more on either side. Great evergreens rose almost underneath him, and in several places large springs gushed from the rocks and ran downward to join a winding watercourse in the meadow.
    For a moment Dan forgot his troubles and thought longingly how nice it would be to live in such a spot. He had always imagined the Squire’s land would be something like this – a little green valley in the shadow of the mountains, with all the fish and game a fellow could want, and with the dark timbered hills at your back and the Yadkin flowing wild at your front door.
    Only, there was no river here. And he was beginning to believe he would never even get to see the Yadkin, not to speak of living near it.
    Suddenly remembering Jeremy behind him, he straightened his shoulders. He had to keep on looking, and if he could not find the Squire and the river today, he could start off in another direction tomorrow.
    Was that a ravine over to the left? He hurried along the edge of the cliff. It was a ravine, sure enough, and at the bottom was a well-beaten game trail that cut down through the rock and entered the timber just above the meadow. Only, at the moment, the trail was occupied by a large she-bear with a pair of cubs.
    At a warning growl from the bear Dan sped hastily behind a tree. The bear spanked her cubs forward, and the three scampered out of sight up the ravine. When they were gone Dan slid down to the trail.
    A few minutes later he broke through the edge of the timber and stood looking at the meadow, wondering if he dared go straight across with the buffalo so near. It would save a lot of time if he did not have to circle around.
    The buffalo were not acting right. Since he had seen them from the cliff, the herd had bunched closer together, uneasy about something. What could have frightened them? The bear?
    No, it could be neither the bear nor himself, for this side of the meadow was downwind from the herd. Dan crept forward through the grass, then stood up slowly. A buffalo has poor eyesight, and he knew he would not be noticed if he made no sudden move.
    A hundred yards ahead he saw a half-grown calf on the edge of the herd. Then all at once he noticed something crawling toward the calf. Something dark and pantherlike.
    But it was no panther. It was the stealthily moving figure of an Indian.
    Dan watched, breathless. He saw the Indian stop, rise, and all in one quick motion fit an arrow to a bow and send it streaking at the buffalo calf. The calf fell kicking, and at the same instant the Indian ran forward, knife in hand.
    The herd wheeled, frightened, and with the low thunder of hoofs sped away along the distant side of the meadow. All but one huge bull. He stood his ground, snorting and pawing angrily. Abruptly he lowered his head and charged.
    The Indian had courage. He had reached the calf, but instead of retreating he calmly slid his knife back into his belt and fitted another arrow to his bowstring. Dan heard the sharp snap as the arrow left the bow. He saw the flash of it in the sunlight – then saw it glance harmlessly aside as it struck one of the bull’s little black curving horns.
    It was too late for another shot. The buffalo was almost upon him. The Indian leaped frantically aside and began to run. He had taken hardly a dozen paces toward Dan when he fell headlong.
    For the space of a breath Dan stared, horrified. Suddenly he swung Jeremy’s long rifle to his shoulder. It was so heavy that it took all his strength to hold the muzzle steady.
    The only rifle he had ever fired was the one belonging to the Squire. With it, though, he had once killed a buck at a hundred paces. But a buffalo was different. The only way to kill one was to shoot it in the head, and you had to place the ball exactly in the center of that little triangle of forehead below the horns.
    It was a long shot – almost too long. Dan waited, holding his breath while he fought to keep the heavy barrel steady and line up the sights. He remembered Jeremy’s final words of caution; he must be careful not to aim too high.
    Suddenly his finger tightened upon the trigger. There was a flash, a sharp whiplike crack, and the next moment Dan was lying flat on his back, his shoulder numb from the force of the recoil. He had forgotten how hard a rifle can kick, and he had loaded it with a double charge of powder.
    Dan scrambled to his feet. Had he missed? No, the buffalo had stopped, and like a crazed thing was whirling from side to side, shaking his great shaggy mane. All at once the beast went rigid; then his knees sagged, and he fell over with a crash that shook the ground.
    The Indian was up again now, half-crouched with his bow in his hand, his mouth open with astonishment as he stared from Dan to the fallen bull. He was a tall, handsome youth with the light golden skin of a Cherokee. Around his neck was a necklace of bear claws, and in his shining black hair was an ornament of brightly colored feathers.
    The Indian was Tandy Walker.
    A wave of relief swept over Dan as he recognized the Cherokee. Here was someone who could help him with Jeremy.
    Tandy approached, solemn-faced, and then grinning.
    “Sge – ha!” said Tandy. “I feel like one big fool. And you – wata! You are one mighty hunter. But for you that big one would have walked on me and made me as flat as the grass. Ugh!” He shook his head, and his eyes became serious. Suddenly he reached forth and took Dan by the hand. “Tandy, he won’t forget,” he said simply.
    “I – I’m mighty glad to see you again,” Dan began. “I need some help powerful bad. I—” He stopped, not knowing how to go on. He could not help but remember how strangely Tandy had acted. What if it had been some of Tandy’s friends who had attacked Jeremy?
    Tandy looked down at him curiously. “You say – you need help? You have trouble?”
    “Bad trouble.”
    “Then we help. You wait.”
    Tandy swung around as someone shouted. Half a dozen young Cherokee braves appeared at the edge of the meadow and ran toward them. They crowded about Dan, jabbering and examining the rifle. Tandy led them to the fallen bull, and they all stooped to peer wonderingly at the bullet hole in the great beast’s forehead. Gravely they stood up and, Cherokee fashion, each one clasped Dan by the hand.
    Dan realized he had become something of a hero in their eyes. The reason for it was clear enough. The only firearms these southern Indians knew anything about were the cheap trade muskets that were almost useless on big game. It seemed miraculous to them that he had brought down so powerful an animal as a buffalo bull. And, well – it really had been a good shot, and a lucky one, too.
    “He’ll be pretty tough chewin’,” Dan said to Tandy, “but ye kin have him if ye want him.”
    Tandy thanked him and gave an order. The other Indians fell to work. It took them only a few minutes to butcher the animals and wrap the best portions in a piece of hide. While they were still busy on it Tandy asked, “Where your friend – the very big tall one?”
    “That’s one thing I want ye to help me on. George got lost again – an’ I reckon I’m kinda bewildered myself. But why’d ye leave in such a hurry t’other night?”
    “There were shots, mebbe my friends need me. Sound like big trouble come. I go see.” Tandy shrugged. “But we no worry ’bout that now. Everybody hungry. We no have fresh meat three, four day. Come – we go eat. Then we talk.”
    Dan shouldered his rifle. Silently he followed Tandy and the others across the meadow. They entered a ravine that curved up through the timber and cut deep into the cliff. The ravine widened at the end, forming a partial cave whose sides sloped sharply up to the sunlight. A few gnarled pines clung to the rocks, and between the roots of one of them a small spring gushed clear and cold. The place was a perfect camping spot, well hidden and protected against the weather.
    Three more Cherokees of Tandy’s age were sprawled lazily about a fire. As the rest appeared they stood up, looking curiously at Dan. When Tandy spoke to them rapidly, their solemn faces became friendly and smiling.
    The fire was raked into a trench between two boulders; the buffalo meat spitted on green sticks and placed over it to broil.
    Hungrily, Dan watched the meat brown. But when it was done and he was eating his first piece, he thought of Jeremy lying wounded on the other side of the ridge, and of George wandering somewhere in the forest, lost and alone – if something worse hadn’t happened to him. Dan’s appetite almost left him.
    He sat back and watched the others eat, then his eyes roved about the camp. Suddenly he realized that none of these Indians carried guns. Then they could not have been the ones who had attacked Jody Brent and Jeremy.
    “Tandy,” he asked finally, “what’d ye larn about that shootin’ t’other night?”
    Tandy shrugged. He shook his head. “That big rain, she come, wash out all trail.”
    “Hmm – well-er – who do ye think caused the trouble?”
    “Why you ask that, white boy?”
    “Because,” Dan answered, “one o’ my friends got hurt mighty bad. He was one o’ George’s men.”
    Tandy frowned at the fire. “Mebbe you tell me what happen.”
    Dan told him all about Jeremy. Tandy listened without a word. Long after Dan had finished, Tandy sat scowling at the fire.
    “Everything wrong,” the Cherokee muttered finally. “I no understand ’bout fight. Shots make me think my friends mebbe have trouble. I go find ’em. Morning come, we look for trail – but big rain spoil everything. Big feller George, I no see. Your father, I no see. We meet here, hunt, watch river, wait.”
    Tandy stood up. He nodded to three other youths, then smiled at Dan. “Come, we go find sick man, bring him here. You lead way.”

PART TWO
Chapter 6: The Yadkin
    The sun was low on the ridge when they reached Jeremy, and it was almost dark when they got him down to the ravine camp. They carried him on an elk robe slung between two poles – “Like a prize pig goin’ to market,” as Jeremy himself expressed it during one of the moments when he was able to talk.
    He was burning with fever when they found him. During the trip over the ridge he raved almost continually, shouting for Jody Brent and calling George. Sometimes he swore loudly at invisible foes, promising dire revenge once he got his hands on an enemy scalp lock. The Cherokees smiled, but said little. Dan was both frightened and amused, and half the time he was on the point of tears.
    As they neared the ravine, Jeremy opened his eyes and for a few minutes was himself again. “Faith,” he exclaimed weakly to Dan. “Where am I? What’s happened?”
    Dan told him.
    Jeremy glowered at the Cherokees. “I feel like a prize pig goin’ to market – an’ bein’ carried by a bunch o’ red haythens in the bargain! By my faith—”
    “They’re all right,” Dan said. “They’re my friends.”
    “They ain’t my friends,” growled Tucker. “I ain’t never had any use fer a yowlin’ redskin. An’ after what happened to me an’ Jody—”
    Tandy Walker glanced back at him, grinning. “We no hurt you, big feller.”
    “Eh?” Jeremy blinked at him incredulously. Then he glared at Dan. “Why didn’t ye tell me one o’ the haythens was eddycated?”
    “I plum’ forgot it,” Dan answered, winking at Tandy.
    “Divil take me!” muttered Jeremy. “I’d better keep my fool mouth shut or I’ll be talkin’ the hair clean off my head.” He did not say another word until he had been made comfortable in Tandy’s camp. And now the fever laid hold of him again and he began to babble once more.
    Tandy bent down, gently untied the bandage, and studied the wound. He grunted and spoke something to one of the braves. The youth vanished into the twilight down the ravine. He came back presently with a handful of small green leaves and a slab of fresh bark cut from an oak. Tandy washed a pebble in the spring and used it to mash the leaves into a thick paste on the bark. Now he cleaned the wound with hot water, covered it with the paste he had made, and bound it again.
    He smiled faintly at Dan. “She draw out poison, mebbe,” he explained. “No can tell yet. Tomorrow we see.”
    It had turned dark beyond the circle of firelight. Evidently the Cherokees expected no danger for they did not bother to set a guard. They sprawled about the fire, toasting choice bits of meat on the ends of sticks.
    Dan watched them curiously, trying to find answers to some of the questions that had been troubling him ever since he had first met Tandy. These Cherokees had not come here to hunt – then what were they doing so far from home? What were they waiting for? And why had Tandy been unwilling to discuss the attack on Jeremy?
    The talking continued long after they had finished eating. Each youth spoke in turn around the circle, the others listening respectfully and without interruption. Several times Dan knew they discussed Jeremy and himself, for he noticed their eyes swing in his direction.
    At last they all fell silent, and Tandy got to his feet and beckoned Dan to stand beside him.
    “We friends,” Tandy said quietly. “No matter what happen. See?”
    “Course we’re friends,” Dan replied. “But – but I don’t understand. What—”
    “Much trouble mebbe come,” Tandy went on. “You save my life – now you be my white brother. See?” And suddenly Tandy stretched forth his arm, and with a sharp piece of flint made a deep scratch that brought the blood. Instantly he held the flint out to Dan. “You do same,” he ordered.
    Wondering, yet not daring to refuse, Dan took the flint and pulled back the sleeve of his hunting shirt. With a quick movement of his wrist he cut himself with the flint’s sharp edge. It hurt a little, but he was careful not to show any sign of pain. The other Cherokees were watching intently.
    Solemnly, Tandy grasped Dan’s arm, pressing it close against his own arm so that the blood from both cuts ran together. And while he did so, he chanted strange words that sounded like a prayer.
    “Now,” he said to Dan, “you my white brother. More than that, you my blood brother. When trouble come, you call Tandy. Tandy help his brother. No harm come to you.”
    Dan’s throat felt tight. Tandy had paid him a great honor. There was no closer tie than the oath of blood brotherhood.
    “Thank ye,” Dan managed to say. “I – I ain’t much on words, but I want ye to know that I’ll ne’er forgit it, an’ that I’ll always be your friend an’-an’ brother.”
    Tandy buried the flint deep under the fire so it could never be used for any unworthy purpose. The other Cherokees drew their robes about them and stretched out to sleep.
    Sleep, though, was impossible for Dan. For a long time he and Tandy lay talking in low tones together.
    “I know something’s all wrong,” Dan said. “But I can’t figger none of it out. That shootin’ – an’ why you’re here....”
    “Trouble everywhere these days,” Tandy answered quietly. “White men from the east, they want mountains and land. White men to the north, from Quebec – they want mountains and land. See?”
    Dan nodded gloomily. Tandy went on, “All those mountains and land – they owned by the Tsaraghee. White men claim land – mebbe pay Tsaraghee nothing.”
    “Who-who are the Tsaraghee?”
    Tandy tapped his chest. “White men’s tongues say word wrong. They call us Cherokee. We are Tsaraghee – the Sons of Fire.” He peered earnestly at Dan. “Tsaraghee love their mountains; they fight for ’em. But they no fight both men from north, men from east. Too many – see? Tsaraghee mebbe help one fight the other. Now you understand?”
    Dan frowned. “I’m afeared I do,” he replied uneasily. “To save yourselves, you’ve got to fight either the French or the English. You can’t make friends with ’em both.” He stopped, almost dreading to ask the next question. “Have-have your people decided which side they’re goin’ to take?”
    Tandy poked the fire with a stick. “Tsaraghee wait. No can tell yet. Soon many chiefs from many tribes meet over the mountains. Soon big French chief come from Quebec. And mebbe big English chief come from East. Then we decide.”
    “But – but you must have an idea how-how your people feel about it. Some o’ them musta made up their minds already.”
    “We talk ’bout that while ago,” said Tandy. “Gunahita – the Tall One yonder; Inali – the Black Fox; Ayunini – the Swimmer. We all talk about you, about what is to come.” Tandy placed his hand on Dan’s shoulder. “We no want trouble come to you. That why I made you my brother.”
    There was no doubting what Tandy thought. Dan said, “You believe, then, that the Tsaraghee will fight with the French?”
    Tandy nodded. “All my clan think so.”
    Dan’s heart sank. A feeling of hopelessness settled over him and he stared glumly at Jeremy, who was muttering in his sleep. He had known, of course, that war was bound to come soon, but he had not realized that the reason for it was a squabble over who was to own the wilderness country. If Tandy’s people joined the French, there was no telling what the outcome would be.
    Dan said, “You ain’t got no idea who done that shootin’ t’other night?”
    “Mebbe I guess,” Tandy replied unhappily. “But I no know for sure. Mebbe it much better I no talk. Everything wrong.”
    And everything, Dan knew, would keep on being wrong until the tribes met over the mountains and decided which flag they would fight under. “I wonder what I’d better do about George an’ the Squire?” he asked Tandy. “Ye say ye ain’t seen nary trace of ’em?”
    “Gunahita, he see tall man with beard once before big rain come, way back in hills. Lose trail after rain. Mebbe we find ’em both on river.”
    “You mean – the Yadkin River? Is the Yadkin close by?”
    “Sure. You no see Yadkin yet?” Tandy grinned. “Ha! I show you Yadkin in morning.”
    In spite of all the uncertainty and danger that now hung over the wilderness, Dan felt a sudden thrill. The Yadkin was a magic name. For weeks he had thought of little else. Tomorrow he would really see the river for the first time. And tomorrow, if luck were with him, he would see George and the Squire again.
    Then his thoughts swung back to Tandy and the other Cherokees. “How come you all are waitin’ here?” he asked.
    “We young men,” Tandy explained, “all belong to Wolf Clan. Every year young men of Wolf Clan take long trail, travel far, learn to be true Sons of Fire. When trouble comes, Sons of Fire must be strong, ready to fight. See?”
    “I see,” said Dan. And meanwhile, he added to himself, Tandy and his Wolf Clan were keeping a close eye on the Yadkin country – for it was through this section that messengers from the East would have to travel to reach the Cherokee towns back in the mountains.
    Dan pulled his robe about him and tried to sleep.
    When he awoke at dawn, Tandy and the others were already stirring, and squares of buffalo steak and suet were sizzling appetizingly over the fire.
    Dan bent over Jeremy. The big woodsman’s fever had gone down during the night, but he was too weak to move or to whisper more than a few words. Tandy made broth for him in a small earthenware pot. Dan found a spoon in his pack and fed him.
    “Tandy’s takin’ me over to the river for a look around,” Dan told Jeremy. “Mebbe we kin locate Paw or George. Dunno when we’ll be back – tonight if’n things work out right. But don’t look for us till tomorrow. An’ don’t ye fret none – Tandy’s friends will take good care o’ ye.”
    Tandy said, “Ayunini, he stay watch all time.”
    Jeremy managed to whisper, “Luck – an’ God bless ye!”
    Dan rolled a piece of roasted meat in his pack and picked up Jeremy’s rifle. Then he set it down and chose his staff instead. There was no use burdening himself with the heavy weapon as long as Tandy was with him. Tandy carried a bow and a full quiver of arrows.
    With a farewell wave at Jeremy, he followed Tandy down the ravine.
    Instead of crossing the meadow as Dan thought they would do, Tandy cut back through the timber and climbed the bluff, taking the trail used yesterday by the bear and cubs. He turned east along the top of the bluff, following its curve until the meadow was some distance behind.
    “How far is it?” Dan asked.
    “She close. Make big bend here.”
    The bluff swung to their left, became higher. They came, in a little while, to an outthrust ledge where the land dropped suddenly away to a large new valley Dan had not seen before. Several smaller valleys opened into it on either side.
    Tandy made a sweeping motion with his arm. “Yadkin,” he said simply.
    Dan gave a cry of amazement and pleasure.
    No wonder he had not sighted the river before! It ran deep in the shadow of the mountains, curved swiftly about the base of the ridge immediately beneath him, and was soon lost between its towering black walls of pines. Dan had crossed much larger rivers on his trip south, but he thought he had never seen one so wild and beautiful. The Yadkin valley was everything he had dreamed it would be, and more.
    He crouched on his heels, eagerly drinking in the sight and speculating in which direction the Squire’s land would be. For the moment he had entirely forgotten that he might never be able to live in this enchanting place.
    “Come,” said Tandy. “We go down.”
    Reluctantly Dan turned away from the view and followed Tandy through a tangle of hemlocks, downward on a winding trail between big moss-covered boulders. Small springs burst from under almost every rock. Bird voices filled the pine-scented air.
    They came out suddenly under the great trees on the river bank. The sharp morning sunlight streamed through the pines, dappling the river with bright pools of light.
    Tandy stooped to peer at a faint mark on the ground. He got up, searched till he found an open spot where the earth was softer, then beckoned to Dan.
    Dan had already seen the signs. Faint, day-old prints of a pair of pointed moccasins, headed downstream.
    It took only one glance for Dan to know who had made them. “Glory be! Them’s the Squire’s tracks!”

Chapter 7: Squire Boone
    The sight of those firm, well-spaced moccasin prints gave Dan fresh hope and a new feeling of confidence. For more than three days – three days and four nights, to be exact – he and the Squire had been lost from each other. During that time a great deal had happened. He had made new friends, done things he would never have dreamed of doing a few short weeks ago. It had been very hard. Now he realized how much he had missed the Squire’s strong helping hand and quiet advice.
    Soon Tandy and he reached a spring where Squire Boone had camped the previous night. From here on the trail was fresher. The sun was hours high, though, before they rounded a point and saw a lean, buckskinned figure moving in the shadows far ahead.
    Dan put his fingers in his mouth and gave a short whistle. The Squire spun about, staring, rifle poised. Then he recognized Dan. He gave a hoarse shout and the two ran to meet each other.
    The Squire’s big hand clapped Dan on the shoulder, shook him as if he had been absent a year, then held him off at arm’s length. For a moment the Squire’s mouth worked without sound. Then he exclaimed, “Well! Whar in tarnation do ye think ye’ve been?”
    Dan grinned. “Looks like I been a-trompin’ all over the wilderness. Where’ve you been?”
    “Looks like I been a-doin’ the same. That storm shore messed things up – thought I’d lost ye entirely. Couldn’t find yo’ trail no place. But praised be the saints—” The Squire cleared his throat and blew his nose loudly to hide a suspicious wetness in his eyes. Immediately he straightened and peered hard at Tandy. “Faith, Danny boy, ye do beat all! I send ye after a white man – an’ here ye come marchin’ along days later with a red one. Who’ve ye got here?”
    “He’s a Cherokee – an’ a mighty good friend. He speaks English. Name’s Tandy Walker. We’re, er – we’re brothers.”
    “Eh?”
    Gravely, Cherokee fashion, Tandy clasped the Squire’s hand. “He speak truth,” Tandy said. “He not so big mebbe, but he great hunter. Save my life. Make ’im my brother. See?”
    “Hmm – mebbe I do an’ mebbe I don’t, but I’m right glad to know ye jest the same. Now, let’s bide a spell an’ hold a parley. I could do with a bite o’ food, Danny, if’n ye’ve got some along.”
    They went back under the pines, and Dan unrolled his pack. The Squire grunted when he saw the buffalo meat, but he asked no questions. Drawing forth his long knife, he wiped the blade on his hunting shirt, divided the roast into three portions, and went after his share with the lusty appetite of a man who has not touched solid food for a long time. “Danny boy,” he said, “let’s hear your side o’ things first. An’ while ye’re talkin’, I’ll be fillin’ all this emptiness that’s in me.”
    Dan began with their parting and told all that had happened to him since. His father did not interrupt. Occasionally the Squire grunted, and once, when Dan was telling about Jeremy and the attack, he stopped chewing and his eyes went hard. Then, as he heard of the shooting of the buffalo bull, the sternness left his face and for a moment he fairly beamed.
    Dan finished. “Hmm,” muttered the Squire. He leaned back against a tree, frowning, eyes serious. “I always said ye was a born hunter an’ woodsman, Danny boy. An’ ’tis thankful I am that ye are.” His eyes dwelt on Tandy. “An’ I’m proud to have ye for my son’s brother, Tandy Walker. From the looks o’ things, I’m thinkin’ we’ll be needin’ a heap o’ friends here in the wilderness country.”
    Dan said, “Let’s hear your side of it, Paw.” Now Dan began to do some serious chewing on his own delayed meal.
    “Thar’s not much to tell, Danny. As ye already know, I missed seein’ them two fellers t’other night. They’d gone too far for me to catch up with ’em ’fore dark. So I holed up under a windfall an’ went to sleep. ’Long towards dawn them shots woke me up.
    “They was mighty close. Not more’n half-mile from me. But I couldn’t do nothin’ about it till ’twas light enough to travel – an’ by that time everything was over. Nary soul in sight. ’Twas rocky country where they’d camped, an’ hard to read signs, so I didn’t waste much time lookin’ around. Figgered the best thing was to take up their trail quick as I could.
    “If’n I’d stopped to read the signs more careful, I’d a-found this feller Tucker ye told me about – but I jest
    took it for granted both men had been captured. An’ it seemed a heap more important to find out who done the shootin’.
    “Them varmints had taken to the creek, but ’twasn’t long ’fore I located where the trail left the water. Hit led up over a ridge. I’d jest dumb the ridge an’ got well down on the other side when that storm busted loose. The storm ruint everything. After that I figgered the best course was to go on to the river an’ wait for you – only the river was a heap farther off than I calculated.
    “’Twas nigh dark ’fore I found it. Next mornin’ I looked all over for ye, then finally cut back the way I’d come to see if’n I could pick up your trail. Got kinda oneasy waitin’ – but I knowed ye’d show up bye an’ bye.”
    The Squire frowned and tugged thoughtfully at his beard. “I don’t know what to make o’ things, Danny. I feel a sight o’ evil in the air, but I can’t put my finger on hit.”
    “You seen our land yet?” Dan asked.
    “Ain’t had no time to think about the land, sonny. An’ thar ain’t no use in thinkin’ about it till we settle some other things. We got to help Jody Brent, an’ we got to find your friend George. Hmm – what’s this George like?”
    “He’s-he’s a right personable feller – even though he is from the tidewater.” The Squire, Dan knew, didn’t care much for tidewater folks. They were apt to be high and mighty.
    The Squire grunted doubtfully. “Ye say he’s a surveyor?”
    “That’s what he told me. He’s surveyin’ a heap o’ wilderness country for Lord Fairfax.”
    “Hmm – well, if’n ye like ’im I reckon he’ll do. Guess they ain’t no harm in a surveyor, but I must say he can’t amount to much if’n he’s always gittin’ himself lost.” The Squire stood up. “Let’s git back to camp. I got a hankerin’ to talk to this feller Tucker.”
    Tandy led the way. Dan and the Squire followed a short distance behind.
    “Danny,” the Squire whispered, “I’m mighty glad ye got acquainted with them Cherokees. Thar’s something gittin’ ready to bust loose in this country. I don’t know jest what it is – but we got to be mighty careful.”
    “I kin tell ye part o’ what’s goin’ on,” Dan said quietly. “Thar’s goin’ to be a big powwow over the mountains soon. All the chiefs from all the tribes are goin’ to meet. Then the Cherokees are goin’ to decide whether they’ll help the French or the English when trouble comes.”
    The Squire whistled softly. “I suspected something like that, though I warn’t sure. Hmm – ye got any idea how Tandy’s people feel about things?”
    “They-they sorta favor the French,” Dan answered.
    The two trudged along in silence, the Squire thoughtful and plainly worried.
    “Son,” he said finally, still keeping his voice low, “I didn’t tell ye a while ago – didn’t want Tandy to hear. But jest before the storm busted loose, when I was on the trail o’ them rascals what done the shootin’, I seen a bunch o’ Cherokees crossin’ the ridge right ahead o’ me. I been a-thinkin’ ever since they was mixed up in that attack!”
    “No,” Dan whispered, “they couldn’t a-had nothin’ to do with it. Ain’t nary musket or rifle among ’em. Besides, Tandy told me all about that. They was tryin’ to find out about the shots themselves.”
    “Hmm, mebbe,” the Squire mumbled. “But ye can’t tell me they don’t know something about it. Them Injins has been all over the country, watchin’ everything. They been watchin’ us ever since we come down here – an’ ye kin bet your best pair o’ moccasins they been watchin’ everybody else. I don’t know what they’re doin’ around here, but they ain’t missed much o’ what’s been goin’ on.”
    Dan agreed with him. There was much more to it than Tandy’s simple explanation about the travels of the Wolf Clan. Not that Tandy hadn’t told the truth – but even Tandy himself had hinted that there were secrets about which he could not talk.
    Troubled, Dan fell behind the Squire as they climbed the narrow bluff trail. Tandy was waiting for them at the top. The Squire halted a moment on the ledge, leaning on his rifle while he peered out over the wild valley of the Yadkin.
    “’Tis a sight worth comin’ far to see,” he murmured. “Perhaps my son’s brother kin tell me where the Cherokee country lies from here.”
    Tandy gave him a quick glance. “You stand on border now,” he said.
    “Eh?”
    “This place, she mark where sun rise on Tsaraghee country. From here, many, many days’ march to right and left, and straight on to the setting sun, Tsaraghee own everything. The Sons of Fire great nation.”
    “Hmm,” the Squire muttered in his beard. “So this is the border, eh? Well, all borders need watchin’ these days.”
    Tandy gave a solemn nod of his head, saying nothing. His nod, though, explained a great deal. With things so unsettled, anything could happen on the border. Dan was sure now that Tandy’s Wolf Clan had been sent to watch the movements of all white men in the Yadkin country, and to report whatever they did to the Cherokee council across the mountains.
    “Tandy,” said the Squire, “as Dan’s no doubt told ye, we come down to have a look at a parcel o’ land we own on the river. Er – I’m jest a-wondering what side o’ the boundary line hit’s on. Feller I bought it from was a trapper an’ trader named Elisha Bean.”
    “Him name Bean?” Tandy rubbed his nose, thinking. “Ha! Funny small man. Sure, I sell Bean many deerskin – but where he live I dunno. What land like?”
    “Hmm, hit’s in a little valley that opens right off the river. Has a high bluff all around it an’ a meadow in the center. An’ thar’s a cabin built agin’ the bluff, with big pines all about an’ a nice spring right at the front door. ’Lisha used to tell me how he’d stand at the window an’ shoot nigh anything he wanted to eat – elk, buffalo, turkey, even b’ar an’ catamounts.”
    “He no eat catamount,” Tandy grinned. “Make ’im sick.” Then he shook his head. “Heap many valley and meadow up and down river. But cabin – I no see. You wait; I ask Gunahita. He mebbe see cabin.”
    The sun was low when they reached the ravine. The camp was deserted save for Jeremy and the stocky Ayunini who had stayed to help him. Jeremy was a great deal better. The fever had left him, and though he was too weak yet to sit up, there was nothing at all wrong with his tongue. In five minutes after he had met the Squire, the two were talking like old friends and Jeremy was telling of his troubles and swearing as hard as any healthy man.
    Dan listened to them while he helped Tandy and Ayunini place buffalo ribs to broil over the fire.
    The Squire said, “Near as I could make out by the signs, thar was four men took after you an’ Jody Brent. D’ye recollect how many shots was fired?”
    “Not more’n three or four, Mister Boone. I was plum’ sound asleep, an’ them rascals jumped on us so sudden—”
    “I was asleep, too, or I’d a-hyeared things better. I believe thar was four shots all told. Sounded like more, but I think ’twas mostly echoes. Hmm – if’n you an’ Brent shot once apiece, that would account for half the noise. So that points to only two men with rifles. The rest was using bows. Hmm – that’s downright peculiar.”
    “Eh? What’s peculiar about it?”
    “Why, thar was two Injins an’ two white men in the party. Now I’m askin’ ye, why in tarnation would a bunch o’ Injins an’ white men attack a pair o’ surveyors what had come up from the tidewater?”
    “If’n you kin figger it out,” growled Jeremy, “ye’re a heap smarter’n me. Hit sure is queer. They warn’t after scalps, or they wouldn’t a-took Jody with ’em. An’ they don’t act like thievin’ renegades, for they don’t fool with prisoners.”
    The Squire tugged at his beard. “Did ye think to look careful at that arrer that hit ye?”
    “Didn’t pay no mind to the arrer, Mister Boone. Jest yanked it out and throwed it away.”
    “Too bad ye didn’t study the featherin’ – ’twould a-told us a heap. ’Twould a-told us, mebbe, if ’twas made by a southern Injin or a northern one. An Iroquois, say.”
    At that dreaded name both Jeremy and Dan looked at him with startled eyes. Even Tandy looked up swiftly, frowning. Of all the tribes, the Iroquois were the most warlike, the most feared. And the Iroquois, everyone knew, had long been close friends of the French.
    Jeremy swore. “Faith, an’ what would a bloody Iroquois be doin’ down here a-tryin’ to murder travelers in the Yadkin country?”
    The Squire shook his head. “That, my friend, is something I’d give a heap to know. An’ if’n they really are Iroquois, I’d like even more to find out why they attacked an innocent party o’ surveyors."

Chapter 8: A Message From George
    Night deepened in the ravine. An owl hooted up on the bluff, and another answered it far across the meadow. Tandy left the fire and vanished in the darkness of the pines below the spring. Presently Dan heard him making owl-talk, hooting rapidly in response to other owl voices that rose eerily in the distance. Then the night grew still, and the only sounds were the crickets and the frogs, and vague rustlings in the leaves high up on the rim of the ravine.
    Tandy returned and sat down by the fire. In a little while, as silently as shadows, the other Cherokees began to appear. One by one they entered the circle of firelight, glanced briefly at the Squire, then squatted beside Tandy.
    When all had arrived, Tandy spoke to them in their own language, then called the Squire to stand beside him. Tandy spoke again, and now each youth stepped forward and gravely clasped the Squire’s hand.
    Tandy said, “The father of my white brother is my friend. Friend of all the Wolf Clan. I can no speak for rest of my people. Much evil mebbe come after big meeting over mountains.” He shrugged, then smiled at Dan. “But no matter what happen, Wolf Clan always your friend.”
    The Squire made a short speech of thanks. He opened his pack and the pouch at his belt, and took from them various articles he had brought from home.
    “I am grateful for the help and friendship of my son’s brother,” he said to Tandy. “’Twill please me greatly if’n ye’ll accept these small tokens of my gratitude.” To Tandy he presented a bright steel knife with a pearl handle, a mirror, and a selection of the best beads in his pouch. All the other Indians received similar presents.
    Tandy was delighted with his gifts. The other Cherokees were as happy as children over a Christmas stocking. There were more speeches, more pledges of friendship; finally the buffalo ribs were taken from the fire, a bag of parched corn was opened, and, chattering and laughing, the Wolf Clan and the three whites went after the food.
    Dan’s spirits rose a little as he watched Tandy’s enjoyment, but not for one minute was he able to forget George or the uncertainty that hung over everything. The Squire ate quietly, then wiped his knife and sat back waiting till the others were finished. Plainly he had a great deal to discuss, but the moment was not yet ripe for questions.
    At last the chatter died; the Cherokees sprawled about the fire and each one spoke a few words to Tandy. Evidently it was a report of the day’s scouting. Dan, studying them, noticed that Gunahita was not present.
    Finally there was silence. The Squire took a small doeskin bundle from his pack, but he did not open it immediately. To Tandy he said, “Thar’s a heap o’ trouble in the air. My son is mighty worried over his friend who was lost, and over the friend of his friend.”
    Tandy seemed uneasy. “All day Wolf Clan search for signs. Rain over ridge. Find nothing. See nobody. Tomorrow search again. Wolf Clan anxious to learn many things.”
    “Hmm,” said the Squire, untying the fastenings on the bundle. “Hit might be that George come out on the river somewhere, mebbe a long way from here. We’d better look careful tomorrow – upstream an’ down. As for Jody Brent—”
    “We search for him, too,” Tandy promised. “Wolf Clan want to know about shooting.”
    The Squire unrolled the doeskin bundle. All eyes were suddenly on him as he took a white object from it and held it up. Dan’s eyes widened. He had not known his father carried such a thing with him. Even Jeremy struggled to one elbow, staring. In the Squire’s hands was a wampum belt made of small, gleaming white shells.
    “To my son’s brother,” said the Squire, “I give the white belt o’ peace. ’Tis an offering to your people across the mountains. Perhaps the leader o’ the Wolf Clan will present it to the high council. My son an’ me an’ our family wish to live in the Yadkin valley and be always at peace with our mountain neighbors.”
    Tandy took the belt solemnly. “When time comes,” he promised, “your son’s brother will offer belt to his people. Your son’s brother hopes that he can bring another white belt back with him.” And with great care Tandy wrapped the peace belt in its doeskin covering and placed it in the fringed pouch at his belt.
    Now Dan remembered what his father had once told him about the presentation of belts. An exchange of white belts meant peace and friendship. A red belt in return meant war. A black belt was sent to enemies as a sign of death. Would the Tsaraghee council give Tandy another white belt in exchange for the first? It all depended upon the outcome of the big meeting. If Tandy’s people joined the French, it seemed almost certain that the belt would be a red one.
    “In the meantime,” said the Squire, “I’m wonderin’ if’n the Wolf Clan kin tell me something o’ ’Lisha Bean’s land. Mebbe ye’ll ask Gunahita about the cabin.”
    “Gunahita, he go on long journey,” Tandy replied. “Take six, seven days, mebbe. He tell us ’bout cabin when he come back.”
    The Squire rubbed his beard and glanced at Dan. “Well,” he said, “I reckon the cabin ain’t goin’ to move till we find it. Ye better git some rest, Danny. Thar’s a heap o’ walkin’ in store for us tomorrow.”
    Dan’s head was already nodding. He spread his robe between Jeremy and the Squire, and lay down wearily to sleep. But tired as he was, sleep did not come for a long time. Over and over in his mind raced thoughts of George and Jody Brent, and visions of Tandy presenting the white belt to the council and waiting while the chiefs debated what color should be sent in exchange. And Gunahita? Was he a messenger for the Wolf Clan?
    Dan could find no answers for this tangle of questions. When finally he went to sleep he was haunted by troubled dreams. He seemed to be lost again in the wilderness, and following him always were the dread shadows of the Iroquois.
    The Squire’s hand on his shoulder awoke Dan early in the dawn. Gray mist shrouded the ravine. Somewhere up on the rim a mockingbird was beginning to sing, a little sleepily, from the sound of it. Tandy was already up, broiling strips of meat to take with them.
    Jeremy watched them get ready. He sat up, swearing at his weakness. “Faith,” he growled. “I wish I could be o’ some help, instead o’ havin’ to sit here like a bump on a log. But I’ll be all right tomorrow – an’ I’m a-goin’ to hunt down Jody and raise some varmint’s hair if’n it’s the last thing I ever do.”
    “We’ll find Jody,” said the Squire. “You take things easy till that wound skins over.”
    Jeremy swore again, then gave them his blessing when they were ready to leave.
    “Here, Danny,” he said, “ye better take my rifle. Can’t never tell when ye’ll need it. Mebbe I’m actin’ like an ole woman, but I got the dangedest feelin’—”
    Dan took the rifle, more to oblige Jeremy than anything else. He would have preferred his staff, for it was a great deal easier to carry.
    Tandy divided the Wolf Clan into two groups, one to search west through the mountains, the other to go north through the region where Tucker and Brent had last camped together. Dan, the Squire, and Tandy were to take the river. As the three moved along the top of the bluff toward the Yadkin, Dan was hopeful that George had already found the Squire’s tracks, and was even now following them up the river bank.
    But when they reached the water it was soon evident that no one had been along here recently but themselves. The Squire studied the river. “I’ll tell ye what,” he said. “You two go upstream an’ I’ll try the other direction. If’n ye don’t see nary sign o’ him by an hour after midday, ye might jest as well turn back. That’ll give us seven or eight hours trompin’, an’ put a heap o’ country between us. If’n this here surveyor o’ yourn ain’t found his way to the river in all that span o’ wilderness, then he ain’t worth lookin’ for.”
    “He’s worth lookin’ for,” Dan said stoutly. “An’ if he ain’t reached the Yadkin yet, ’tis because he’s in bad trouble. Don’t fergit what happened to Jody Brent.”
    “Hmm, well mebbe. I can’t help but remember your tellin’ me he’s from the tidewater an’ wears a cocked hat. Hmp! A cocked hat in the wilderness! Well, git along with ye, an’ I’ll meet ye here tonight. An’ Danny—”
    “Yes, sir?”
    “Keep an eye on the valleys an’ see if’n ye kin spot our land.”
    The Squire spun on his heel and departed downstream. Dan and Tandy started off in the other direction. When they reached the first bend, Dan glanced back, saw the Squire turn and wave a brief farewell before he vanished in the pines. Dan did not realize it then, but it was the last time he was to see his father for many long and dangerous days.
    The Yadkin valley narrowed and took on a wilder and more rugged look as they progressed upstream. There was game everywhere. Grouse scattered in the thickets at their approach. Big flocks of turkeys ran for the underbrush or rose startingly in front of them and sailed out over the river. A bear, fishing in the shallows, stood up on his hindquarters, sniffing and wrinkling his nose as they passed. There were more deer here than any place Dan had ever been. Every game trail was covered by their little sharp-pointed tracks, and mingling with them occasionally were the larger tracks of elk and woods buffalo, and sometimes the great round pads of a panther. But only once that morning did they see the prints of moccasins.
    Tandy stooped and studied them carefully. “Gunahita come this way,” he said finally. “Them Gunahita’s big feet.”
    “Where’s he goin’?” Dan asked, unable to hold back his curiosity.
    Tandy touched his shoulder. “Something bad wrong, white brother. No can tell yet. Wolf Clan watch for many white men come from East. But men no come. Something mebbe happen. Gunahita go tell Tsaraghee council.”
    Dan puzzled over this. A large party of men was expected from the East. Could it be the English delegation from Virginia – the men who hoped to make peace with the Cherokees? It seemed likely. But what had happened to keep them away?
    Frowning, he shifted Jeremy’s heavy rifle to his other shoulder and followed silently in Tandy’s footsteps. He wanted to ask more questions, but it was plain that Tandy was not yet ready to talk about the matter. But more and more he was beginning to understand Tandy’s importance, and the real reason for the Wolf Clan’s presence on the border.
    The river curved gradually to the south and the banks became steeper, with great outcroppings of rock and high bluffs on either side. Soon Gunahita’s trail swung off to the right, vanishing up a ravine in a course that would take him westward through a gap in the mountains.
    Tandy stopped and glanced at the sun. It was already past midday. “Mebbe it much better we go back,” he said. “George he no come so far.”
    Dan leaned on the rifle, nibbling at a piece of buffalo meat. His eyes traced the curving course of the ridges to his right. “Look,” he said. “If’n somebody was lost over in yonder, an’ he was followin’ the lay o’ the land, he might not hit the river till he was miles upstream. Let’s go a little farther.”
    They went on for another hour. Tandy stopped again. “We no keep Squire waiting. Take half night get back now. No moon till late tonight.”
    Dan was tired, and he was beginning to feel discouraged. All along he had clung to the belief that George would be found somewhere upstream – if he had reached the river at all. And he felt, too, that his father’s land was also in this direction. But though they had passed the openings of three small valleys, none of them bore the least resemblance to Elisha Bean’s description. Nor had they seen any sign of a trail except the one made by Gunahita.
    Still, he hated to give up. It had rained here recently, probably yesterday morning by the looks of the ground. Suppose George had come this way and the rain had washed out his trail? That had happened once before.
    “Let’s go on to the next bend,” he urged Tandy. “If’n we don’t find nothin’ then, I’ll quit.”
    Reluctantly Tandy went ahead. But he had gone only a dozen paces when he dropped suddenly to his knees to peer at the rocks over which they were now walking.
    “Sge! – look!” Tandy muttered. “What you think?”
    “Huh? What is it?”
    At first Dan’s eyes, sharp as they were, could make nothing of the vague scratches under Tandy’s pointing finger. Seeping springs here had washed away the topsoil, exposing flat areas of rock covered with fungus and green moss. Here and there the moss had been cut by the little sharp hoofs of deer. But no deer had made these marks, nor even an elk or a buffalo. The signs were old, and rain and other trails had dulled them; it was with difficulty that Dan traced their shape. When he recognized them he drew in his breath sharply.
    “A-a horse!” he whispered.
    “Two, mebbe three,” muttered Tandy. “Come here six, mebbe seven days ago.” Tandy was unusually excited. He ran forward, crouching every few feet to search out the trail. It led upstream. Nearing the bend, the trail cut back toward a low place in the bluff. Every trace of it was soon lost in the dense timber.
    They returned to the river. “What d’ye make of it?” Dan asked. “Who’d be ridin’ horses in this country? I can’t figger—”
    Tandy shook his head, troubled. “Come,” he said quickly. “We go back. Hurry. I tell Wolf Clan.”
    Dan hesitated. He was looking upstream, his attention caught by something small and white fastened to the upthrust limb of a fallen tree that lay across the bank. Just beyond it a creek wound out of the shadows and went rippling over the boulders into the river.
    “Wait a minute,” Dan urged. “Let’s see what that is.”
    As he sped toward it he saw that the limb had been recently blazed with a hatchet. The small white thing was a piece of paper. It had been thrust carefully through a slit in the bark.
    He knew instantly that it must be a message, for great pains had been taken to place it where it would be seen by anyone coming along the river bank.
    Yes, there was writing on the paper, though it had been badly blurred by yesterday’s rain. And the paper itself, ruled with fine red lines, had a strangely familiar look. Where had he seen such a thing last?
    The answer came almost immediately. George’s notebook. Dan had noticed the book several times when George opened his pack – a small leather-bound volume used for keeping the surveying figures. The pages had been ruled with red lines.
    At Dan’s shout Tandy came running. “It-it’s from Georgel” Dan cried. “Lordy, I hope I kin read it!”

Chapter 9: The Iroquois
    With hands that were not quite steady, Dan spread the paper across his knees and began puzzling over the unfamiliar letters. Tandy crouched beside him, his black eyes very bright and curious.
    “You mebbe read him?” Tandy asked hopefully.
    “Sure, but you gotta give me time – an’ don’t bother me when I’m tryin’. I had a heap o’ book lamin’ – nigh on to five months. But ye can’t expect a feller to sit down an’ read something right off. Takes figgerin'.”
    He closed his eyes and mumbled twice through the alphabet to get the feel of the thing. The message didn’t seem quite so hard when he looked at it again.
    “Hmm,” he began. “Hit appears to be addressed to four people. Here’s my name, an’ Paw’s – an’ I reckon them other two would be Jody Brent an’ Jeremy Tucker. Hmm, er – let’s see. C-a-b-i-n. Hmm – that’s cabin. An’ w-a-i-t t-h-r-e-e. Er – thar’s something about a cabin, an’ waitin’ three days. Hmm, er – up... the... creek-cabin... built agin’ a... bluff. Squire – Squire Boone’s 1-a-n-d. Say! He thinks he’s found Paw’s land!”
    Tandy grunted, then glanced worriedly at the sun. He stirred impatiently.
    “Er, I think I got it now,” Dan hurried on, trying hard to keep the excitement out of his voice. “Near as I kin figger from the writin’, George is up that creek yonder, at a cabin that he thinks is on Paw’s land. He aims to wait there three more days, an’ if’n nobody shows up, he’s a-goin’ on back north an’ join his main party. If’n Jeremy an’ Jody Brent ain’t already gone, they’re to follow him.”
    He looked up at Tandy. “I – I don’t know when he wrote this. Musta been a couple days ago.” He rubbed his cheek thoughtfully and tucked the message into his pouch. Suddenly he straightened. “That cabin can’t be far from here. We better go find it right away.”
    “Sun she low,” Tandy said quickly. “You go find cabin. I go back, see Squire, see Wolf Clan. Bring ’em all here tomorrow. Much better that way.”
    Dan studied the sun. Tandy was right. There was not enough time for them both to hunt up George. Anyhow, it was much simpler this way. And Tandy, he could see, was very anxious to tell the others about the trail of the three horses.
    “All right,” he said. “You go on back. George an’ me’ll be watchin’ for ye in the mornin’.”
    Tandy sped away, running with a long easy stride that soon carried him out of sight among the pines downstream.
    Dan hoisted Jeremy’s rifle to his shoulder. With a sudden feeling of uncertainty and loneliness, he hurried over to the mouth of the creek.
    At first glance there did not seem to be any valley opening here. It was only when he stepped back close to the water that he was able to glimpse the bluff above the tops of the trees. Then he saw the sharp break in the bluff and, behind it, high ridges curving away to enclose the valley. He could not tell much about it, though, because of the dense timber that grew along the creek.
    Dan set out eagerly on a game trail that followed the right bank. When he saw old ax marks on some of the trees, he no longer had any doubt that George had found ’Lisha Bean’s cabin. There could not be two such cabins in this country, each one built against a bluff. He had described the place pretty carefully to George. And ’Lisha Bean, he remembered, had blazed some of the trees along the creek as a guide to hunters and trappers coming along the river.
    Dan laughed. The Squire would have to change his opinion of George after this. The big fellow had stolen a march on all of them!
    Somewhere ahead a blue jay began to chatter shrilly. Dan slowed, eyes searching the forest gloom. He was suddenly uneasy.
    The blue jay cried again, and now Dan recognized the warning in the sound. Blue jays are the forest guards; it does not pay to ignore them. He stopped and flattened against a tree.
    There was something wrong. He could feel it with an instinct that had been bred in him from his earliest days in the woods. Somewhere, very near, was danger. What it was, where it was, he could not tell yet.
    He fought back his sudden desire to run, and lifted the heavy rifle and cocked it. It was probably a bear or a panther. He had never heard of them attacking anyone without cause, but there was no use taking chances. Opening the pan on the rifle lock, he dusted a fresh priming of powder in the touchhole. He was closing the pan when he happened to glance down at the creek.
    There, not ten feet from him in the fine gravel by the water’s edge, was the print of a moccasin. It was a huge print, and from the curving shape of it he knew instantly that no Cherokee had made it. And it was fresh. So fresh that even as he stared at it, moisture from the damp gravel began to trickle down and fill the hollow made by the heel.
    Dan stood frozen, sudden cold fear sending a tingling up his spine. His hands tightened about the rifle, knuckles showing white. He dared not move a step. The maker of that huge footprint could not be a hundred feet away.
    He held his breath, ears straining for the least sound while his eyes darted back and forth, searching. He could see no one. The only sounds were the loud murmur of the creek and the chattering of squirrels upstream.
    Then he heard a faint rustling of leaves on the other side of the tree. It was as if someone were moving stealthily.
    Dan whirled. He tried to bring the rifle up, but a big brown hand shot from behind the tree and seized the barrel. A quick jerk twisted the weapon from his grasp. The charge went off with a roar as his fingers slipped over the trigger, but the bullet went harmlessly into the ground.
    For one terrible instant Dan stared into the fierce, scowling features of one of the largest Indians he had ever seen, then he jumped frantically aside and ran.
    He went tumbling down the creek bank, slipped, sprawled full-length in the water, scrambled to his feet, and splashed madly over the slippery stones to the other side. There was a shout behind him, then a great splash as the Indian landed in midstream and took after him. Clawing fingers grazed his shoulder and clutched the fringe of his hunting shirt.
    Dan tore away. He dodged behind a tree, leaped over a log, and twisting and turning in every direction, managed to keep just one jump ahead of the other.
    He knew he could not hope to outrun the big savage. But he was quicker, and he realized his only chance was to play the same tricks that a rabbit does with a hound. He dove for the thickets, dodged in and out among trees, and scrambled through small openings that the other had to go around.
    Glancing back once he saw that he was gaining. If he could just keep this up for a little while longer, he was sure he could escape.
    Dan squirmed through a laurel thicket and rolled down into a ravine. Footsteps pounded behind him; he heard a shout – and an answering cry ahead. There were two of them!
    He turned and tried to run up the ravine, then saw the second Indian hurrying to head him off. He spun about – and ran squarely into the arms of the first one. He kicked and lashed out with both fists, but it was no use. The powerful hands that held him might have been made of steel.
    “You big varmint!” he stormed. “Why don’t ye pick on something yo’ size? What in tarnation are ye up to? If’n Paw was here—”
    A hard slap silenced him and almost knocked him from his feet. The smaller Indian pinned his wrists behind his back and knotted them tightly together with a strip of rawhide. Dan bit his lip and fought to hold back tears of rage and fear. He set his jaw stubbornly and kept repeating to himself: “Don’t let them know you’re afraid; keep your head up and your eyes open.”
    He was allowed only a few seconds to study his captors, but that was time enough to confirm his worst fears. These were not southern Indians. They were dark-skinned and hawk-featured, and they wore their hair plucked so that there was only a scalp lock in the center that stuck up stiff like a horse’s mane. They were Iroquois from the French provinces up North.
    Dan’s heart sank. He knew now what had happened to Brent and Jeremy. And he knew why Tandy had been acting so strangely. If there were Iroquois in the Yadkin country, then there would be French here with them. Tandy must have suspected all this, but could do nothing about it. The Cherokees and the Iroquois were friends, and there was the big conference that might soon send them on the warpath together.
    All this flashed through Dan’s mind while he was being tied. Now the larger Indian shouldered Jeremy’s rifle that he had taken from Dan, spoke a guttural word of command, and started swiftly up the ravine. The smaller of the two gave Dan a kick that sent him stumbling after the first.
    Dan was tired after his wild flight, but the two Iroquois allowed him no chance to get his breath. To slow down only for a moment brought a swift kick or a slap from a bow that drove him forward. Any attempt at escape was prevented by a strip of rawhide that led from his wrists to the man behind him.
    Why had they captured him? He could see no reason for it at all. Neither of the Iroquois wore war paint, so that meant they were not out after scalps.
    And where were they taking him?
    Dan tried to keep his directions straight. The creek, he remembered, lay somewhere behind him. As nearly as he could tell, they were heading northwest, away from the river. He wondered if either George or Tandy had heard the rifle shot. Tandy had not been gone very long, so it was possible that he had noticed it. And if the cabin lay anywhere near, George surely would have heard it – if George himself had not been captured.
    Once, off to his right, he caught a glimpse of a meadow through the trees. It must be the meadow ’Lisha Bean had described. The cabin lay across on the eastern side of it, hidden somewhere against the bluff. For a second Dan thought of crying out in the hope that George would hear him. Then he realized that such a move would only bring trouble upon George. No, the best plan was to leave a clear trail behind him – one that Tandy and the Squire could easily follow tomorrow when they came up the river. They would start searching for him as soon as they discovered he had failed to reach the cabin. The thought brought hope rising in him again.
    Watching his chances, he dug his toes deeper whenever he could, dislodging pebbles, cutting furrows through the leaf mold, and scattering bits of rotten wood each time he stepped on a spongy log. He had to be careful in order that it would look accidental. So he stumbled a great deal, pretending to be much more tired than he was.
    Then, as they left the valley and entered rocky country along the side of a ridge, his spirits began to fall again. It was hard to leave a trail here. He went a step out of his way once to kick over a stone; the Indian behind him spoke sharply and struck him savagely across the head with his bow. Tears stung Dan’s eyes and pain almost blinded him. But he gave no outcry. He staggered on, gasping for breath, forcing his tiring feet to keep up with the huge Indian in front of him.
    The Iroquois seemed tireless. They pushed on, mile after mile, without a halt. After they had crossed the first ridge it was all Dan could do to keep up with them. He made no attempt now to leave a trail for the Squire and Tandy to follow. There was no use in trying, for the Iroquois were seizing every chance to cover their tracks. They kept to the rocks and hard ground where no moccasin prints would show; they waded long distances in every small stream they came to; and finally, reaching a high valley covered with a dense growth of hemlocks, they hurried boldly on, confident that no one would ever solve the puzzle of their footsteps.
    By this time Dan’s last shred of hope was gone. Bitterly he remembered the brief glimpse he had had of ’Lisha Bean’s meadow. He had been so close to the place he and the Squire had come so far to see, so near to meeting George again, and now.... He set his lips against the despairing sob that shook him.
    Shadows lengthened and the air turned chill with evening. Dan shivered in his damp buckskins; little needles of pain were beginning to shoot through his chest, and his breath was coming in short gasps. He was nearly exhausted. The twilight darkened, and suddenly it was night.
    The leading Indian stopped. He gave a quick barking signal like the yapping of a fox, waited, and then called once more. Finally, far off, Dan heard an answer. The leading Indian set out again, and a kick sent Dan stumbling after him.
    Dan was almost ready to drop when he saw the glimmer of a small fire ahead. A final kick and a slap from the bow drove him into the light of it.
    Vaguely he made out the forms of two men standing watchfully in the shadows to one side. White men – for both were bearded, and they wore long hunting shirts instead of breechclouts like the Iroquois.
    Dan was too tired to give them more than a glance, but he was sure that they were Frenchmen. Discouraged and overcome by weariness, he slumped down on the soft hemlock needles and lay still.
    He wondered if he would ever see George and Tandy and the Squire again. Then he tried not to think of tomorrow. There was only trouble ahead.

Chapter 10: Jody Brent
    For a long time Dan lay where he had fallen, every muscle throbbing with the exertion of the last six hours. He was tired, but not nearly so tired as he pretended. Wiry and strong for his age, the long trip southward with the Squire had made him almost as tough as an Indian. All he needed now was a little rest and a chance to catch his breath.
    Strength flowed back into him quickly. And as his strength returned, courage rose with it. Still he lay quiet, listening, cautiously studying the camp through half-closed eyes.
    There was a tantalizing smell of food in the air. Over to his right the smaller Indian was intent with a haunch of venison which was roasting over the fire. A panther’s tail dangled from the fellow’s belt, and every movement sent it swishing behind him as if he were more cat than savage. Once he held up a knife, examining it delightedly while he ran his fingers over the blade. Dan swallowed when he saw it. It was his own knife – a present from the Squire on his last birthday.
    Dan could not see the other men very well without turning his head, though he could hear their voices. He understood nothing, but he had heard French spoken by trappers and traders up North, and he recognized the sound of it now. Occasionally to his ears came the low, guttural replies of the big Iroquois. Evidently the three were discussing their prisoner and the events of the day.
    The tight cords bit into his wrists. Dan moved, trying to rub circulation into his hands. The talking stopped, and one of the men came over, flipped him on his back with a kick, then grasped his hair and jerked him roughly upright.
    “Dites-moi!” growled the fellow. “Comprenez-Vous le francais?”
    Dan eyed him sullenly. He was a big man, nearly as big as Jeremy. Shaggy black brows almost hid his little evil eyes, and he had a huge black beard that spread fanlike over the front of his dirty hunting shirt. Gold rings gleamed from his ears. On his head was a red woolen cap with a large tassel that dangled to his shoulders.
    Behind him Dan glimpsed the second Frenchman. Black-bearded, swarthy, and evil-eyed like the first, he also wore a red woolen cap. He was very lean, and there was a scar on his cheek that looked as if he had been badly scratched at one time by a wildcat. Immense silver earrings pierced his ears.
    “Parlez-moi!” snarled the first man, and gave Dan’s hair a jerk as if to make him understand. “Comment vous appelez-tous?”
    “Leggo my hair!” Dan blazed, jaw outthrust. “I don’t speak no French! Ye’d think thar was a war on, the way ye’re actin’.”
    “Parbleu!” The big Frenchman slapped him, then muttered something to one of the Indians. The Iroquois with the panther’s tail left his cooking long enough to bind Dan’s feet and drag him to a tree at one side of the camp.
    The scar-faced man came over and stared hard at Dan. “Entendez!” he demanded. “Ou sont les anglais?”
    Dan shook his head. “I don’t know what ye’re talkin’ about,” he muttered. “But I do know one thing – ye’re the ugliest hunk o’ jabberin’ crowbait I e’er laid eyes on. An’ if’n ye don’t keep away from me—”
    “Easy, lad,” a low voice whispered to one side of him. “Don’t git them varmints riled.”
    Dan’s face went blank with sudden astonishment. He had not known there was another person here. He waited until the Frenchman went back to the fire, muttering in his beard. Then he twisted around and for the first time saw the other man – a prisoner like himself.
    He sat with his back against a tree, arms bound behind him – a grim, wiry little man with a bristling week-old beard the color of a carrot. His eyes were points of cold agate, and his mouth made Dan think of a steel trap. On his head was a cap made from the skin of a black fox.
    He studied Dan for a full minute. Finally he spoke out of the side of his mouth, “How come you’re in this country, lad?”
    Dan explained. “What’s your name?” he asked.
    “Jody Brent.”
    “I figgered ’twas.”
    Dan glanced cautiously toward the campfire. Seeing that the men were busy eating, he added: “I met George, an’ I found Jeremy. Jeremy was hurt pretty bad, but he’s a heap better now.”
    Not a muscle moved in Jody Brent’s face, but his eyes showed his amazement. His eyes flashed suddenly bright, then went narrow again. “Thanks, lad,” he said simply. “I been tied up here for days, thinkin’ Jeremy was dead. Didn’t know what had happened to George.”
    “You got any idea what they aim to do with us?”
    “Mebbe. Know who them fellers are in the red caps?”
    “Hmm – no.”
    “They call ’em coureurs de hois up in Canady. Means ‘woods runners.’ Jest another name for scout. An’ they’re tough. Ain’t nothin’ meaner or tougher on earth. You be careful how you act with ’em.”
    Dan gulped. He shot a quick look at the fire and whispered, “Do-do ye speak French?”
    “Yeah,” the little man said out of the corner of his mouth. “Spent five year in Canady once. But I’m playin’ dumb. That’s the only reason I’m alive now. They can’t talk English, an’ they don’t know I kin talk French. So they’re goin’ to have to take us to an interpreter. Mebbe we kin git away in the meantime.”
    “Wha-what’s it all about?”
    “Plenty. I’ll tell you later. Quiet now.”
    The others had finished eating. The Iroquois with the panther’s tail came over and untied the cord holding Jody Brent’s hands to the tree. The little man hunched over and drew his bound wrists under his feet, so that they were in front of him. “Do the same,” he muttered to Dan. “They’re goin’ to feed us, but they won’t untie our hands.”
    Dan squirmed and slipped his hands under his moccasins. The Indian tossed each of them a piece of half-cooked venison, burned on one side and covered with ashes. Dan was hungry. It was awkward holding the meat with his wrists bound, but he ate ravenously and wished there had been more. He looked longingly at the pieces still roasting on the fire, but the Indian only grunted and motioned for him to draw his hands behind him again. This done, he and Jody Brent were fastened carefully to separate trees.
    “Try an’ go to sleep,” the little man whispered. “They’re takin’ us travelin’ in a couple hours.”
    “Not tonight!”
    “Yeah. Takin’ us to headquarters. Their captain talks English, from what I kin understand.”
    “But what are they tryin’ to find out?”
    Jody Brent lowered his voice until it was barely audible. “Listen, lad, you heard about the big powwow they’re goin’ to have over in the Cherokee country?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Well, there’s a big English party headed over the hills. They’re loaded down with peace belts for the Cherokees. These French varmints are out to stop ’em. If they stop ’em, you know what it means?”
    Dan’s eyes widened, and a sudden coldness crept through him. He could understand everything now, the whole terrible business. If the French could keep the English from reaching the Cherokee council, there could be no doubt what would happen. The English would lose their last chance to make peace with the mountain tribes. And when war came, the Cherokees would sweep down through the wilderness with knife and tomahawk, and no man’s life would be safe.
    But this was only part of it. With so many Indian allies, the French would win the war. And all this great country would become French territory.
    In the meantime the French were taking no chances. They were playing a deadly game of fox and geese – and Heaven help any English-speaking stranger who fell into their hands.
    Jody Brent said, “’Twon’t be long now. Been a lot o’ murder an’ scalpin’ along the Canady border durin’ the last year. If the English lose out down here—”
    “Ain’t-ain’t thar something we kin do?” Dan whispered.
    The little man shrugged. “Wish there was. But what? How? We’ll be lucky to save our own necks. Better git some sleep, lad.”
    * * *
    Sleep was almost impossible. With his hands bound behind him and fastened to the base of the tree, Dan could lie only on one side with the roots pressing hard into his ribs. He still wore his robe strapped to his back, and by much squirming managed to shift it high on his shoulders so he could rest his head upon it. It did not help much. The chill mountain air cut through his damp buckskins, and he lay there cramped and shivering, too far from the fire to receive any of its warmth.
    Panther Tail and the two French scouts stretched out beside the fire. The big Iroquois remained sitting up, toying with Jeremy’s rifle and the bullet pouch and engraved powder horn that went with it.
    Dan stared at him glumly, wishing he had left the rifle behind. Finally the Iroquois lay down beside his companion, hands still clasped tight about the precious weapon.
    Instantly Dan began to strain against the tough raw-hide binding his wrists. Even when he realized that escape was hopeless, he kept on stubbornly, trying to twist his arms about so that he could reach the knots with his numbed fingers. Abruptly the big Iroquois bounded to his feet. He came over and struck Dan hard across the face, and then examined the fastenings. Grunting, he grasped Dan’s hair and gave it a jerk that lifted him from the ground. A knife flashed in the firelight, and Dan felt the point of it prick his scalp.
    Dan’s heart seemed to freeze inside of him. Then one of the Frenchmen sat up, muttering angrily. The Iroquois scowled and slowly allowed the hank of hair to slip through his fingers. With a baleful look at Dan he strode back to the fire.
    Jody Brent whispered, “Mebbe he was foolin’, lad – but you can’t tell about that rascal. Be careful. Our chance ain’t come yet.”
    It was long minutes afterward before Dan’s nerves quieted and he was able to relax. Then, just as he was beginning to drift off to sleep, Panther Tail kicked him awake.
    The two Frenchmen were already up. While they rolled their packs and made torches, Panther Tail unfastened the prisoners’ feet and strung the two together with a length of rawhide. Dan’s pack was suddenly torn from his shoulders, and a much heavier pack strapped in its place. The rest of the baggage went to Jody Brent. Panther Tail pawed through Dan’s belongings, and finding nothing he wanted, kicked it all into the fire – robe, spare moccasins, and the much prized tinderbox.
    “Allons-vite!” snapped one of the Frenchmen, and prodded Jody Brent with his rifle.
    They began marching swiftly through the dark, the big Iroquois and the scar-faced man in the lead. Each carried a torch. Dan followed Jody Brent. The others hurried close behind, Panther Tail urging Dan on with the point of his bow.
    They stopped only twice before dawn, once to drink at a small running brook, and again to find wood for the torches.
    Dan had not the slightest idea in which direction they were going. They were in high country, for the air was sweet with laurel and balsam; occasionally he could hear water roaring down over rocks. The big Iroquois in the lead kept to the game trails, and it seemed to Dan that they were following a long valley that curved ever upward into the mountains.
    He had thought he was tired earlier in the evening, but now his aching feet were great lumps of lead, and his breath came faster and faster as he strove to keep up with Jody Brent. Occasionally the little man spoke words of encouragement over his shoulder. “You’re doin’ fine, lad. Jest watch my heels an’ stay in step with me. ’Twill be easier that way.”
    They marched on, the lights from the torches flickering weirdly through the dark woods. Birds twittered sleepily. After what seemed an endless time, the forest awoke to the dawn chorus. The night grayed, and finally the men put out their torches.
    They halted just before daylight. Panther Tail tied the prisoners’ feet, and everyone lay down for a short and welcome rest.
    Dan was instantly asleep. But it seemed he had hardly closed his eyes before he was kicked awake. A strip of venison was tossed to Jody and himself, then their feet were untied and the march was continued.
    By midmorning they were high in the mountains. Dan had lost all interest in his surroundings. He plodded wearily behind the little man, eyes to the ground, trying to keep in step and avoid stumbling. To stumble or even lag for an instant would bring Panther Tail’s bow whacking painfully across his ribs.
    “Lean back on the line when you git tired,” Jody Brent said once. “I’ll pull you along. You’ll git your second wind soon – then you’ll be all right.”
    Dan bit his lip and forced himself to keep the line between them slack. The little man was having a hard enough time without adding to his burden.
    They stopped to drink at a spring a little later, then their captors goaded them across an ice-cold stream that came roaring waist-deep through a gash in the rocks. They struck a better trail on the other side, and pushed on faster. Perhaps it was the shock of the cold water that helped, or it may have been his second wind, but Dan’s breath came easier and some of the leaden feeling left his feet.
    The hours passed and the shadows lengthened with late afternoon. Dan moved as if he were in a dream, but somehow he kept pace with Jody Brent. He knew if they stopped for so much as a minute that he would never be able to go on.
    They turned away from the stream and began to struggle upward through a tangle of spruce and hemlock. The big Iroquois gave his barking, foxlike signal. He was answered immediately.
    Dan climbed painfully, falling every few steps and then scrambling dizzily to his feet as Panther Tail drove him relentlessly on with the bow. He was hardly aware that Jody Brent had grasped the line with his bound hands and was pulling him over the last steep part of the climb.
    Then, abruptly, he was on level ground again. Ahead was a large open spot, shadowed by immense boulders and a great overhanging cliff. In the center of it was the French camp. The long march was over.
    Dan stood swaying on his feet, too weary to note Jody Brent’s sharp intake of breath. He stared dully at tents and horses and piled baggage, at silent, half-naked Iroquois and red-capped figures in buckskins.
    His eyes closed and he sagged against Jody. He was asleep before he touched the ground.

PART THREE
Chapter 11: Bribe Goods
    Three pails of ice-cold water, thrown full in his face, jolted Dan back to consciousness. Panther Tail completed the rude awakening by grasping him by the hair and dragging him over to the fire where several men were grouped about Jody Brent.
    Sudden rage made Dan forget his aches and pains. No one had any right to bother him after that long and terrible journey. Nor did Panther Tail have any right to douse him with cold water and nearly pull his hair out by the roots. Blinding hate shook him and he cast all caution to the winds. As Panther Tail loosened the hold upon his hair, Dan drew back his knees and kicked. He kicked hard with all the strength left in him.
    It was not much of a blow, but it caught Panther Tail on the shins. It knocked his feet out from under him and sent him sprawling into the fire.
    The savage bounded upright, howling, all his dignity lost by the quick laughter of the men watching. He leaped back, his ugly features twisted in a murderous fury, and whipped Dan’s knife from his belt.
    Someone spoke a sharp order. Panther Tail stepped forward, then stopped. He slid the knife back into his belt. With a deadly look at Dan that boded no good for the future, he turned and ran to cool his burns with a layer of soothing mud from the banks of a spring bubbling from the rocks nearby.
    Someone chuckled, and men began talking quickly in French. Dan shook water from his face; he drew a deep breath and looked about him.
    He had thought it was night, but now he realized with some surprise that it was early dawn. He caught the scent of wood smoke and roasting venison, and the sharper smells of damp leather and stale bear grease which some of the Iroquois were rubbing over their bodies. His glance swung from the red-capped woodsmen about him to the horses tethered at one side of the camp. Horses! Could they be the ones whose tracks Tandy Walker had found back on the Yadkin? They must be.
    Then Dan’s eyes took in the tents, and the great heap of baggage that had been stacked under the cliff. He blinked when he saw that huge pile of bags and bundles. Enough stuff there for a hundred men, yet there were hardly a dozen in sight – six or seven French scouts and a small number of Iroquois.
    It was strange, for men traveled light in the wilderness and lived off the woods as much as possible. Experienced scouts, he knew, and especially Indians, did not weigh themselves down with huge packs.
    Abruptly he saw Jody Brent watching him a few feet away. The little man’s face was drawn with fatigue, his eyes bloodshot. But he was grinning. “You shouldn’t a-kicked that rascal, lad, but it done my heart good jest the same.”
    Dan opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. The scar-faced Frenchman stepped from one of the tents; behind him came another man – a slim, dapper fellow with a waxed mustache and quick, darting eyes. His hair, graying at the edges, was caught in a neat queue at the back and fastened with a small red ribbon. Under his hunting shirt of cream buckskins was another shirt of clean white linen. He wore blue army trousers and shiny black military boots, and buckled around his waist was a sword with a silver hilt.
    Even without the boots and sword, Dan would have known by his bearing that he was an officer.
    Jody Brent spat out of the side of his mouth. His eyes turned stony. “Look at the dandified blackguard!” he whispered. “Name’s Captain Prideau, an’ he thinks he owns the earth – him an’ the King o’ France. Watch your step, lad, an’ act dumb. He tried to make me tell a lot o’ things I didn’t know last night, but I was too worn out to feel sociable.”
    Captain Prideau strode stiffly up to the fire. The scouts ceased their jabbering and stood respectfully aside. The Captain glanced haughtily from Jody Brent to Dan. He sniffed, and his restless eyes fastened on Jody Brent.
    He sniffed again. “Monsieur,” he rapped out suddenly. “Attend! You may have been of a great dumbness last night, but I suspect you were shamming. I will have no nonsense this morning.” He nodded toward the silent group of Iroquois who stood watching. “They have a so big weakness for hair, monsieur. Now, either you answer my questions, or—”
    “Pshaw,” said Jody Brent, not the least ruffled. “I ain’t got enough hair under my cap to interest them smelly friends o’ yourn. As for information, I told you all I know. You keep a-yammering about the English. Faith, what English? Where? I ain’t seen no English. Me an’ my pard—”
    “Parbleu! This provincial dialect! It is like questioning a pig. But enough of your lies. I know what you are. You and this boy – 'you are scouts from the English!” He wheeled on Dan.
    “Dites-moi! – tell me! And do not speak like your mouth is full of the mush. Where did you meet this man? How long have you known him? What business brought you to the river Yadkin?”
    Dan looked despairingly at Jody. Innocently, Jody Brent said, “Tell ’im the plain truth, lad, then mebbe he’ll tell us what ’tis all about an’ let us go. He seems to have a hard time understands’ plain English. Pshaw! I never seen such crazy doin’s!”
    Dan followed Jody’s lead. Pretending the same innocence, he met the cold searching eyes of Captain Prideau. “All right, but I declare I can’t figger what ye’re drivin’ at. The first time I ever seen Mister Brent was after them two ugly varmints o’ yourn caught me. But o’ course I’d hyeared all about ’im from his pardner. Ye see – we was lookin’—”
    Captain Prideau raised his hands and shrieked, “Mon dieu! What fool’s talk is this? Can you not speak the language plain? Repeat – and speak slowly.”
    Dan flushed and started again. “Ye see,” he went on, “I’d found his pardner nigh dead from an arrer wound, an’ he told me how they was down here surveyin’—”
    “Eh? What’s this? Surveying? Bah! Men do not come surveying in the wilderness! The man is a spy. No doubt you are one too. You look tough enough!” He struck Dan across the ear. “You little fool, if you have the wish to keep your hair, you will tell me where the English are! Vite! Answer me!”
    “Ye’re crazy as a hoot owl,” Dan cried, jaw outthrust. “Me an’ my paw come all the way from Pennsylvany to look at some land we own – an’ we ain’t seen nary sign o’ no English party. Anyhow, what would a bunch of English be doin’ in the Yadkin country?”
    Captain Prideau muttered angrily. He raised his hand as if to strike again, then he sniffed and twirled the points of his mustache. Doubt was suddenly in his eyes, and the fingers of his other hand tapped thoughtfully upon his sword hilt. Finally his face hardened. “Non, it must be a lie. But even so, you have no business here. This mountain wilderness – it is all French soil. To come surveying without permission is a crime against His Majesty, the King of France. I cannot allow it. Nor will I allow any bumpkins from the English provinces to claim land that does not belong to them.”
    “I’m no bumpkin!” Dan blazed. “An’ ye’ve got no right—”
    “Silence!” snapped Captain Prideau. “A few days on the trail with that baggage will settle your impudence. In the meantime you will keep a respectful tongue in your head.”
    Dan bit his lip and watched Captain Prideau stride away. The dawn was brightening and scouts began coming in from the woods. Others ate a hasty breakfast and departed quickly. Captain Prideau and the scar-faced man with the silver earrings spread a map upon the ground and began discussing it earnestly. The remaining woodsmen gathered around them.
    For the next half-hour the prisoners were forgotten.
    Jody Brent whispered, “How’re you feelin’ this morning, lad?”
    Dan stretched his legs painfully. “Kinda done up, but I reckon I kin travel if’n I have to.”
    “Looks as if we’re gonna have to, whether we want to or not. An’ they’re gonna make us carry that stuff yonder.” The little man inclined his head toward the baggage piled under the cliff. “Know what that is, lad?”
    “I been wonderin’ about it a heap.”
    Jody Brent’s mouth twisted. “In them bags, son, you’ll find the price of a thousand lives. There’s enough beads an’ wampum, enough mirrors an’ knives an’ ribbons an’ gewgaws an’ what not to buy every English scalp clean from here to the Virginny tidewater!”
    “Ye mean—”
    “I mean, lad, that all that baggage is bribe goods. An’ don’t think the Cherokees won’t be bought by it. If it ever reaches the big council across the mountains, the English won’t have a chance!”
    Dan swallowed. He looked helplessly down at his hands, red and swollen from the tight cords. “We-we got to do something!” he said urgently. “We can’t jest let—”
    “Yeah,” Jody Brent mumbled. “We got to do something now. When you think about what’s liable to happen, our lives don’t really count. There’s a heap o’ settlers down in the low country, women an’ children. When them mountain redskins hit the warpath....”
    The two fell silent, eyeing the pile of baggage. Bribe goods. The price of countless lives. Perhaps even the price of half a continent. If that baggage were gunpowder, and twice as much of it, it could not be any more dangerous.
    Dan knew Jody Brent’s thoughts were his own. It was still many days’ march to the Cherokee towns. If something could only happen to the bribe goods along the way; if those bags and bundles could only be destroyed....!
    But how? What chance would Jody Brent and he have against Captain Prideau’s men? Anyway, they would have to escape first. And escape seemed impossible. Across the camp Dan could see Panther Tail crouched by the spring, watching him with a cold, unwavering stare. That deadly stare sent a chill up Dan’s spine. Panther Tail would see that neither of them got the slightest chance of freedom.
    * * *
    Some pieces of venison were tossed to the prisoners. Dan and the little man were eating hungrily when two Indian runners came swinging into camp. Captain Prideau forgot his map and began plying these newcomers with questions. Dan could see the instant change in Captain Prideau’s face. The scar-faced man began talking excitedly.
    “Something’s happened,” Dan muttered to Jody Brent. “Kin ye make out what it is?”
    “Can’t tell yet. They’re talkin’ redskin jabber. Hmm – I believe they’re goin’ to recall them other scouts.” Jody Brent listened, eyes closed. Presently he whispered: “It’s about the English, lad. Seems like the English party has slipped through down to the south. That means we’re all gonna hit the trail – an’ hit it hard an’ fast!”
    Jody Brent was right. Captain Prideau suddenly straightened and began snapping orders. The camp, almost in the next breath, became a scene of furious activity. The tents were struck and packs were rolled. The three horses were led to the spring, watered, and quickly loaded with baggage. Captain Prideau stood by, frowning, impatiently twisting the corners of his mustache. His glance fell on the prisoners and he barked a few quick words at Panther Tail.
    Dan’s heart fell as Panther Tail trotted toward them, eyes glittering. The Indian jerked the bonds from their ankles and with vicious kicks sent them stumbling over to the baggage. Panther Tail loaded them. He did it with malicious care, selecting the heaviest bundles and strapping them on as tightly as he could.
    “Fill your lungs full o’ air,” Jody Brent whispered. “Then the straps won’t be so tight later.”
    The remaining baggage was hurriedly shouldered by the Iroquois and the red-capped woodsmen. Panther Tail, Dan saw, carried much less than himself. Captain Prideau disdained to carry anything but his rifle.
    Captain Prideau was in a great hurry. “Allons!” he barked. “Marchez!” And swearing in three languages, he sent the beginning of the column swinging rapidly down through the trees. Half the men were still gathering up small articles and stuffing them hastily into their bags.
    The giant Iroquois broke trail at the head of the file, easily carrying a load that would have staggered two ordinary men. The prisoners found themselves in midcolumn behind the horses. Far in the rear Dan could hear Captain Prideau shouting at the stragglers.
    At the first step Dan nearly fell on his face. The pack seemed to weigh nearly as much as himself, and it was all he could do to balance it. Then Panther Tail’s bow whacked sharply against his shins, and the pain of it drove him on. By bending far over and taking long gliding steps with his knees held stiff, Dan soon learned that he could manage the burden without a great deal of effort.
    But even so, every step was agony. His feet were swollen, his legs ached, and there was hardly a spot on him that had not been bruised by Panther Tail’s bow. And he was tired to the marrow. After that terrible march of yesterday and the night preceding it, he rebelled at the very thought of movement.
    Yet he had to go on somehow. Behind him was Panther Tail’s fiendish bow, and certain death if he faltered.
    Dan kept on through the greater part of the morning. In time the shoulder straps loosened and the load became a little easier on his back. Some of the stiffness left his legs. But his rage at Panther Tail increased.
    It was when he stumbled and fell, and Panther Tail began beating him unmercifully, that Dan decided he had had enough of it. When he was on his feet and moving again, his wits began to work furiously.
    “Jody,” he called softly. “I’m a-goin’ to fix that varmint. In another minute I’m droppin’ out. When I holler, you fall too.”
    Dan picked his spot carefully. When he fell, it was at a narrow place on the game trail they were following, and the crowding trees and rocks prevented anyone from passing.
    Panther Tail raised a howl and began laboring him with the bow. Dan set his lips against the pain and refused to move. The column behind him came to a halt. Captain Prideau’s voice rose angrily. He rushed up and jerked Panther Tail aside.
    “Name of name!” cried Captain Prideau. “What goes on here? Pig! Bumpkin! On your feet!”
    Dan moaned. Feebly he tried to rise, but it was evident that the pack was too great for his strength. “Please, Cap’n,” he pleaded, “if’n ye’ll jest let me carry my fair share, I’ll do it. But look – that dirty Injin’s three times my size an’ he’s only carryin’ half as much!”
    “Faith,” Jody Brent added. “Jest look at the stuff we’re carryin’! That redskin loaded us, an’ he’s makin’ the lad an’ me carry what he ought to be toting himself. An’ he keeps beatin’ us so that we can’t keep in step.”
    “An’ if’n ye’ll untie our hands,” Dan urged, “we could do a heap better. ’Tis nigh impossible for a feller to keep his balance with his hands tied – an’ when he stumbles he can’t catch hold to nothin’ an’ git on his feet.”
    “We can’t escape nohow,” Jody Brent insisted, “not with all these rascals watchin’ us. An’ if ye’re in a hurry—”
    Captain Prideau was in a hurry. He was not in the least concerned about the comfort of his prisoners, but the delay was another matter. The air around Captain Prideau was suddenly blue with language. He raved in French and swore in the Iroquois dialect; Dan’s hands were speedily untied and part of his load was transferred to Panther Tail’s back. Jody Brent fared likewise. Panther Tail, his burden doubled and his eyes murderous by now, was sent ahead of the horses where he could do no more damage. As they hurried to catch up with the others, Jody Brent looked back once, his face expressionless but his eyes twinkling.
    The victory over Panther Tail sent Dan’s hopes climbing, and for a while he was able to forget his pains and tiredness. With the lighter pack it was not so hard to keep moving with the column. Whenever his feet began to drag a little, the red-capped man behind him growled a warning, but did not waste any energy on kicks and blows. The stocky French woodsman seemed almost saintly after Panther Tail.
    But the best part of it was having his hands free. The skin about his wrists was badly chafed, and his fingers were swollen. He rubbed them as they marched along, and when they stopped to drink at a stream, he bathed them in the cold water. Gradually strength came back into his hands, and with his returning strength Dan began planning to escape.
    Escape, of course, would have to be attempted at night – real late at night when everyone was too sound asleep to hear small noises. He had no doubt of his ability to slip away when the opportunity came, but there were two things that worried him. One was Panther Tail; the other was the certainty that he and Jody would be bound again every evening.
    He had had enough experience with those buckskin lashings to know that he could never hope to untie them. They would have to be cut. Yet what could he use to cut them with?
    The problem was still unsolved when Captain Prideau called a halt at dark. By this time Dan was too utterly exhausted even to dream of escape. He fell in his tracks and he had no memory of his pack being removed and of being made secure for the night. He did not awaken until the stocky woodsman untied him at dawn, and Jody Brent shook him and hauled him to his feet.
    Miraculously, the little man still wore his black fox skin cap. Dan had long since lost his own. Under his cap Jody Brent’s eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and his steel-trap mouth was grim. But he managed a smile as he helped Dan on with his pack.
    “Here’s your breakfast, lad,” he said, holding forth a strip of meat and a handful of parched corn. “You’ll have to chaw it on the march. I saved your supper; ’tis in my bag when you want it. How’s my tough pardner this mornin’ ?”
    “Right tolerable,” said Dan, trying hard to grin. “Shucks, we ain’t done no walkin’ yet. Wait’ll we git a chance to show our heels to these varmints!”
    “Allons!” barked Captain Prideau. “Marchez! Vite!”
    Dan swung quickly into line. Tolerable, he thought, was not quite the word for the way he felt. He did not see how he could force himself to keep moving until another night – not with a pack on his shoulders, and at Captain Prideau’s mad pace.
    But keep going he did – not only through that long and wearying day, but all through the morning of the day following.
    Then an unexpected circumstance delayed the march. And Captain Prideau’s haste gave Dan the chance he had been praying for – a chance to do mischief to the treaty that was brewing between the Cherokees and the French.

Chapter 12: The Raft
    Even the hardy coureurs de bois were tired and grumbling this third morning, for Captain Prideau had driven them until late the previous night by torchlight. The day before an Iroquois runner had reported the English nearing a mountain pass to the southwest, and the news had sent Captain Prideau into a rage. The pass, so Jody Brent whispered, led across the great wall of the Alleghenies and was on the main route to the Cherokee towns. To be entirely successful in his mission, it was evident that Captain Prideau must reach the spot first.
    Long before daylight the company was on the march again. Captain Prideau’s voice could be heard the length of the line, swearing in both French and English, and jabbering heatedly in the Iroquois dialect while he urged everyone on to the very limit of endurance.
    For the past two days the trail had followed the easy windings of a valley. Now it swung upward. Torturously upward, higher and higher, until suddenly everything was shrouded in gray mist.
    They were in the clouds.
    Men swore and struggled with the horses. They fought and clawed their way over rocks and piles of shale. They pulled and pushed and strained and finally managed, by almost superhuman efforts, to get the animals and all the baggage to the bald mountain top. Dan was more dead than alive when he crawled over the edge and threw himself down to rest.
    The sharp sweet air revived him; he rolled over and stared with widening eyes at the immensity of country that lay ahead – country that few white men had ever seen.
    For a moment he forgot that he was a prisoner. The spell of the land was on him, and he could feel the lure of distance and the unknown. Mountains seemed to stretch forever into the west. They rose above the clouds, black and purple and then smoky blue far away. Each one seemed higher than the first, soaring heavenward above rolling seas of clouds.
    The clouds beneath him parted for an instant, and Dan could see a river, winding like a silver ribbon through the valley below. Their route lay across that river, and southward.
    Abruptly Captain Prideau’s sharp voice dispelled his dreaming. Dan struggled painfully to his feet. As he did, something small and sharp cut through the sole of his moccasin, lightly pricking his heel. It was a thin sliver of keen-edged flint.
    His pulse gave a jump. Here was something that might be used to cut the cords with which he was bound every night. No one noticed as his fingers closed quickly over the flint and slipped it into the pouch at his belt.
    Slipping, sliding, hurrying every foot of the way, the company plunged downward toward the river. Captain Prideau’s voice was never still for a minute; he wanted to be far beyond the next mountain before dark caught them.
    Finally the men reached the bottom. They stumbled through the trees and stood gaping on the river bank. Captain Prideau’s voice died. He stared at the water. For a while afterward there was stark silence.
    What river this was Dan had no idea. It was not a large stream, and normally it could have been waded without much trouble. But there was no chance of wading it today. It ran bankfull in a swirling muddy flood.
    Captain Prideau’s face purpled. He shook his fists at the skys and at the obstacle in front of him. “Parbleu!” he spat out. “Bon dim!” he cried hoarsely. “Name of a name!” He choked, got his breath, and all at once he was snapping orders.
    Men threw aside their packs and seized axes. Feverishly they attacked the pines and whatever light wood they could find. Others dragged the timbers down to the water’s edge and began building a raft. No chance could be taken with the precious bribe goods. Every bag and bundle must be floated safely across. The men themselves could swim behind the raft and push it to the other side.
    The raft took form slowly. It had to be large and strongly built to carry so much valuable freight. Saplings were sprung over the ends of the logs and lashed with vines. Ropes from the pack horses were used for mooring lines. Captain Prideau drove them all like Trojans, but in spite of all his raging it was nearly dark before the work was finished.
    Little attention was paid to the prisoners during this time. Dan kept his eyes open, watching for a chance to slip away through the trees. But Panther Tail was always near, and his bow was strung. Just one suspicious move, Dan knew, was all the excuse Panther Tail wanted to send an arrow into his back.
    Every added minute of delay brought a fresh outburst of temper from Captain Prideau. Though dark was near, the raft must be loaded, the baggage must be ferried to the other side. Captain Prideau was determined to see this task finished before he made camp.
    But Captain Prideau reckoned without the night or the weather. Dark caught them before the loading was done, and the men had to work by torchlight. Then, as the last bundle was lashed in place, the rain that had been threatening all day began to pour down steadily.
    It would be folly to attempt the crossing now. With a final despairing burst of oaths, Captain Prideau threw up his hands and called it a day.
    The raft was moored carefully between two pines leaning over the water; a guard was set to watch it, and the men hurriedly erected rude shelters against the rain. Some scraps of venison were tossed to the prisoners, then they were tied back to back and left lying under a tree. If they were wet through and cold and thoroughly miserable, no one cared. One must expect hardships in the wilderness. What was a bit of cold and rain? Bah! These prisoners were tough; a little weather would only season them and make them tougher.
    With Jody Brent’s hands and feet bound tightly to his own, Dan could hardly move. By raising his head a little he could see part of the camp, dimly illuminated by two small fires that had been built under shelters of pine boughs. Beyond the edge of the trees he could barely make out the dark shape of the raft.
    His eyes fastened on the raft, and the firelight glinted on its deadly freight. He forgot the rain; he forgot the chill and the aching weariness that was in him. He knew only that he would never again have such a chance as this. If he escaped at all, it must be tonight. Somehow, no matter what happened, he must manage to reach that raft.
    He nudged Jody Brent with his elbow. His whisper was muffled by the patter of the rain and the swishing sound of the river.
    “Jody, we’ve got to keep awake. We got to – understand?”
    The little man twisted his head around. His answering whisper was almost in Dan’s ear. “I’m with you every inch o’ the way, lad. But how’re we gonna bust these cords? We gotta git loose before—”
    “I’ll git us loose. I found something I kin cut with. Wait’ll all the fires go out.”
    “All right. Kin you swim, lad?”
    “Yeah. Kin you?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Fine. We’ll have to crawl to the water an’ swim to each end o’ the raft to untie them ropes. We can’t take a chance on untying ’em from the trees, or that guard will see us.”
    “’Twould be better if’n we had knives to cut ’em with.”
    “Yeah,” the little man whispered. “But we ain’t goin’ out o’ our way to steal one. We can’t afford to take no extra risk.”
    They waited. Just keeping awake and waiting was the hardest part of it. The ran and the chill did not help much. The weariness of long days and unending miles lay heavy upon them; Dan felt as though he could lie down in a puddle of ice-cold mud and go instantly to sleep.
    He studied the camp and tried to plan each move. Several men lay betwen himself and the water. It was not going to be easy crawling around them in the dark. But the guard at the raft worried him more than anything else. He could not see the fellow yet, but he knew he must be over under one of the trees where the raft was moored.
    A shadow moved on the river bank. Dan watched it. He saw the guard stand up, cast a swift glance about the camp, then glide silently toward him. Firelight caught the fellow’s face and Dan’s heart seemed to turn over and stop beating for an instant.
    The guard was Panther Tail.
    The Indian bent over and examined their lashings. For long minutes afterward he stood looking down at them, till it seemed he must have suspected their plans and was trying to read their thoughts. At last he grunted and went back to the raft.
    Dan slowly expelled a despairing breath. “Oh Lordy!” he whispered miserably. “We ain’t got a chance with that varmint on guard.”
    “We’re gonna try it anyhow,” Jody mumbled. “If you know how to pray, mebbe you’d better do it. I ain’t much account at it myself.”
    Dan did his best, and hoped that the Lord heard him. The fires dimmed to little heaps of red coals. Finally these went out. Dan waited a while longer.
    When it was jet black with not even a spark to show their movements, he began twisting cautiously, trying to reach the small pouch fastened to his belt. For a horrifying moment he was afraid he could never force his bound hands around far enough to touch the pouch. Then he got two fingers between the drawstring, and soon they were probing inside for the flint.
    He managed to get the flint out, only to drop it somewhere on the ground between Jody and himself. It took nearly half an hour of agonized searching before he found it. It was impossible to cut the cords on his own wrists with it, but by holding the flint tightly between thumb and forefinger, he was able to insert it in the lower lashings about Jody Brent’s hands.
    The flint was almost as sharp as a piece of glass. He sawed carefully up and down with it, trying to control his haste. Several times he was sure he had gouged Jody’s wrists, but the little man uttered no sound. He cut through one cord, then another. Suddenly Jody Brent’s hands were free.
    Dan’s heart began to beat madly. Jody eased around, listened, and began fumbling with the rest of the cords. Dampness had swelled the knots; the little man wasted several minutes trying to untie them in the dark. Finally he cut them with the flint.
    Now that they were both free, it was hard to resist a wild impulse to get up and run. Dan forced himself to lie still while he got his bearings. He was on the side nearest the water, and it would be up to him to lead the way.
    The rain, he realized, had almost stopped. The sound of it would no longer help to muffle their movements. With a prayer that Panther Tail was asleep, he turned over on his stomach and began crawling toward the river.
    He inched along, feeling out the ground ahead of him with his fingers and carefully picking twigs and small stones from his path. Jody Brent followed. They were as silent as a pair of cats stalking a robin, and Dan might never have known anyone was behind him except for the occasional soft pressure of Jody’s fingers against his moccasins.
    They passed the first sleeping figure and turned to crawl between two others. The night had grayed and dim forms were beginning to take shape. Was dawn so near? One of the horses snorted. The man on Dan’s left stirred and rolled over. Dan froze.
    The man raised up on one elbow, rubbed his eyes, and looked squarely into Dan’s face. Dan lay motionless, but it seemed that the terrible pounding of his heart must awaken everyone in camp. The man mumbled sleepily; finally he settled down and pulled his robe over his head. Apparently he did not notice anything strange about Dan’s lying there so close to him.
    Dan dared not move for a long time afterward. His heart felt as though it would never stop pounding.
    It was much lighter now. It could not be dawn, for the birds were still quiet. With a sinking feeling inside of him, Dan realized the cause. It was the moon. The night had cleared and the moon had come up over the far ridge. A bright full moon! It shone down on the river, clearly illuminating the raft and the figure of Panther Tail hunched against a tree.
    Dan swallowed. Nothing worse could have happened. Then he felt Jody Brent’s reassuring hand on his moccasins, and he began crawling forward again.
    As they crept past the last sleeping figure, something bright caught his attention. It looked like the hilt of a knife peeping under the fellow’s robe. It was a knife. Dan’s fingers went stealthily over to it, touched it, eased it gently from its case. The man slept on. With a glance at Panther Tail, Dan crept straight for the river, the knife between his teeth.
    They reached the water’s edge twenty feet below the raft. Shadows of the trees hid them as they crawled in up to their necks. It was icy cold. Dan shook violently and nearly dropped the knife. Then he saw the raft upstream, with every bag and bundle standing out clearly in the bright moonlight. On the bank at the far end of it was Panther Tail.
    Was the Indian asleep? Dan stared at him, eyes straining to catch any least movement. Panther Tail sat with chin on chest, robe pulled up over his head.
    Dan gripped the roots under the bank and drew himself along in the shadow. The cold water swirled about his neck, tugged at his feet; far downstream he could hear the roar of rapids.
    At the edge of the shadow he stopped. He looked long at Panther Tail, then glanced back at Jody. The hardest part of it all lay just ahead.
    Jody Brent’s hand touched his shoulder. The little man’s whisper was hardly audible above the swish of the river. “Easy – an’ don’t climb on the raft till we git it loose. I’ll take the front line. When she swings out in the current, you cut the back line quick.”
    It sounded easy enough. They kicked forward silently. A minute later they were safely across the stretch of moonlit water, and Jody Brent had vanished around the corner of the raft. Dan clung to the log where the rear line was tied, knife ready to slash it the moment he felt the current swinging them clear.
    Minutes passed. Why was Jody so slow? Then he realized that Jody must be having a struggle with the knots, which would be swelled tight in the water. Maybe he had better cut the back line first and then swim around and give Jody the knife.
    He raised his head cautiously for a look at Panther Tail, and sick fear shot through him.
    Panther Tail was awake and on his feet, and even now was moving along the bank to examine the moorings!
    Dan gulped air and sank out of sight behind the corner log. It was hard to hold his body down. The current tore at his legs and swung him away from the raft, up toward the surface again. In desperation he pulled himself far under the logs.
    He held this position as long as he could, meanwhile searching frantically with one hand for a space to breathe. But the logs were so close together that he could hardly slip his fingers between them. His heart was pounding madly and his lungs felt near to bursting. When he had stood it for the last possible second, he drew himself to the far side of the raft and thrust his face quickly to the surface.
    He was gasping in the chill air when he saw Panther Tail crawling around the baggage, almost directly above him.
    For one terrible fraction of a second Dan was sure the Indian had seen him. But Panther Tail was only looking after the lashings. Dan sucked air through his mouth and drew his head under again.
    He realized now that he and Jody had failed. All along he had been sure that, once they reached the raft safely, they would have little trouble getting it loose. But with the sleepless Panther Tail ever on guard, they would never be able to cut the lines.
    The cold bit through him horribly. Even worse was the agony of holding his breath and waiting. It would be so easy to drown. He had only to loosen his hold and sink, for he knew there was not enough strength left in him to swim. Drowning, though, would be a lot better than being caught by Panther Tail.
    Where was Jody? The little man must be down here somewhere with him. Then he forgot about Jody in the torture of holding his breath. It was suddenly more than he could bear. No matter what happened, he had to have air.
    He fought his way to the side and thrust his nose to the surface. Finally he raised his head carefully and took a swift glance over the logs. Relief went through him like a warm flood. Panther Tail was no longer on the raft. Dan drew himself to the corner where the mooring line was fastened, and studied the bank. Relief changed to uneasiness, and then to fright.
    Panther Tail was standing rigidly under a tree, peering back into the shadows where the men lay sleeping. Peering, Dan realized instantly, at the spot where Jody and he had lately been tied.
    Dan watched him. He saw Panther Tail take a step forward, stop, then suddenly fling his robe aside and go running through camp. Dan waited no longer. He raised his knife and began hacking frenziedly at the rope. While he worked he prayed that Jody would hurry and get the other line loose.
    His fingers were so numb that it was hard to grip the handle tight. Once the knife slipped and he nearly lost it. He had only cut through one strand when he heard Jody Brent’s hoarse whisper.
    “Quick, lad, bring the knife here!
    It was now or never, and stealth no longer mattered. Dan grasped the handle with both hands, put his weight on it, and jerked the blade down over the rope. This time he cut through it. Jody called again, urgently.
    “Coming!” Dan gasped. He kicked frantically, fighting against the current to draw himself forward. He was so weak that it seemed he could never reach Jody in time. In a few seconds the whole camp would be aroused.
    Something dark swirled toward him. Jody’s hand rose dripping in the moonlight and snatched the knife from him.
    The little man splashed for the upper mooring line. He reached it, and with a violent lunge he brought the knife down and cut through it with one stroke. Abruptly the raft was in motion.
    It moved with agonizing slowness at first, drifting along only a few feet from the bank. Then the current caught one end, spun it around, and swept it toward midstream, faster and faster. Dan hooked one leg over a log and tried to crawl aboard. He was too weak to make it.
    Back in camp a voice rose shrilly. Suddenly a man yelled, then another, and in the next instant the night rang with the wild clamor of angry voices. Jody Brent managed to heave himself over the corner log; he lay there a moment, spent, then crawled slowly up on the raft.
    “Hang on, lad!” he gasped, and began working around the edge of the baggage toward Dan. He caught Dan’s hand, braced himself, and then Dan was drawn clear.
    Without a word they scrambled over the heap of baggage and began slashing and tearing at the coverings.
    Flashes of musket fire stabbed the shadows behind them. Shots echoed over the water. Dan could hear cursing and frenzied shouts as men plunged through the underbrush and began running along the river bank. Captain Prideau was shrieking orders. Like a wolf pack in full cry, the French and the Iroquois raced downstream to head them off.
    The fury of those on shore was like a whiplash to the two on the raft. They worked madly. Jody Brent ripped a bundle and a stream of glittering trade knives spilled over the logs. Dan seized one and hacked at the other bundles.
    They slashed everything open and heaved it into the water. Bags of beads, mirrors, silks, steel heads for tomahawks; more beads and mirrors, spoons and silver bangles; belts and cups and kettles and a great bag of wampum. Glittering wealth for a thousand painted warriors. They kicked it and shoved it and spilled it over the side, and fed it all to the river.
    Arrows hissed overhead and whacked into the logs. Spray rose from half a dozen spots along the bank as French and Indians leaped into the water and began swimming clumsily toward them. Downstream the roar of the rapids was louder.
    Jody Brent kicked the last bundle away. He swung a huge belt of wampum above his head. “There goes your bloody treaty!” he yelled, and he ripped the belt to shreds and flung it at the approaching swimmers.
    He swayed from exhaustion. His knees buckled, and suddenly he fell down beside Dan.
    The two lay side by side, gripping the logs while the raft spun swiftly on toward the rapids.

Chapter 13: Castaways
    The roar of the river drowned out all other sounds. Whether any of the swimmers were still following them, Dan did not know. He did not look back. A greater danger lay immediately ahead, and there was no escaping it. Neither he nor Jody had the strength left to swim. They could only cling dumbly to the logs and pray that the raft would not go to pieces when it struck the rocks.
    The current hurled them on, faster and faster. The thunder of the river now filled all the night. Suddenly the raft was spinning dizzily in the wild leaping rush of white water. Rocks tore at the logs. The raft upended sickeningly, righted, smashed down on hidden boulders, and went whirling and grinding on through a smother of spray. Dan was flung sideways and would have gone into the water if Jody had not held him. It was impossible that the logs could hold together long in this. Destruction seemed only a matter of seconds.
    The night turned swiftly dark as clouds blotted out the moon. The river was more terrible now. The raft tilted again, crashed with an impact that jolted every bone in Dan’s body.
    “She’s breakin’ up!” Jody cried, his voice nearly lost in the roar. “Git ready to jump when I do! We’ve got to keep together!”
    Dan braced himself. Spray blinded him and he could see nothing. Beneath him he could feel the logs weaving loosely. Fearful of getting his hands caught between them, he groped for a lashing. He found one, but it tore apart as soon as he touched it. The whirling raft spun half out of the water, and he lost his balance and went sliding down to the other end. A sapling brace held him for a moment. Then the raft smashed violently against a rock and the logs flew apart all at once.
    “Jody!” Dan cried. “Jody!”
    He thought he heard Jody’s answering yell somewhere on his right. He tried to leap toward the sound, but swirling water closed over his head and everything was lost in roaring blackness.
    Dan knew he could never hope to swim in such a place. It would take all his remaining strength just to keep his head above water. Beyond that he would have to trust to luck and the river.
    He made no effort now to fight the current, but let it carry him where it would. It tumbled him over and over, gasping and choking, the sharp rocks cutting his hands and face and bruising his body. Suddenly he was thrown crushingly against something that knocked all the breath from his lungs. He must have lost consciousness for a little while after this, for the noise of the river faded and he seemed to be drifting peacefully along in space.
    Then, slowly, sound and feeling returned. He realized dimly that he was out of the rapids, and that he must be lying somewhere in the shallow water below them. There was gravel under him and in the sky overhead was the red flush of dawn.
    Feebly, Dan rolled over on his stomach and tried to crawl up on the bank. It took him a long time to drag himself a few feet beyond the water’s edge. Coughing miserably, he collapsed against a boulder.
    Where was Jody? He tried to call out to Jody, but only a hoarse croak came from his throat. Perhaps the little man was hurt and needed him. He struggled to get to his feet, but the attempt was too much for his strength. He collapsed again, and this time exhaustion pressed upon him like a great weight.
    He was awakened by the early morning sun beating down on his back. He lay still, soaking in its warmth while he listened to the dull roar of the rapids in the distance. Then, closer, he was aware of another sound. Someone was talking.
    He recognized the sharp voice of Captain Prideau.
    A chill of fright brought him up on one elbow. His head throbbed so badly that it was hard at first to make out where he was. Finally he realized that he was wedged between two boulders a short distance above the water. The rocks behind him cut off any chance of retreat. He flattened, knowing that his only hope was to lie still and pray that Captain Prideau did not see him.
    Beyond the two boulders he had a narrow view of the river. The water, he noticed, had dropped considerably during the night, exposing the wide stretch of gravel where the current had carried him. He could still hear Captain Prideau talking, though he could not yet locate the sound.
    Suddenly, hardly twenty feet away, a small raft made of dead poplars drifted into sight. Captain Prideau crouched in the center with a rifle across his knees. Behind him stood the scar-faced man with a pole. The scar-faced man put his weight upon the pole, and the raft swung in and grounded on the gravel bar. Both men stepped ashore.
    Dan held his breath, knowing that the slightest sound or movement would betray him. It seemed impossible that he could escape being seen. Fortunately, his buckskins blended with the rocks, and the receding water had left no trace of where he had crawled.
    Captain Prideau strode almost to the boulders, turned, glared upstream and down, and his eyes stabbed the gravel for signs. He was still talking and muttering to himself. His voice rose and fell explosively, and in his fury the veins in his neck were swollen to the point of bursting. He reminded Dan of an irate Indian squaw he had once seen back in Pennsylvania.
    The scar-faced man came behind him, silent, and pointed to a battered log washed up on the gravel. Captain Prideau broke into a fresh tirade of cursing. He kicked angrily at the log, which still carried a piece of frayed mooring line fastened at one end – all that remained of yesterday’s raft. The scar-faced man swore softly.
    The two swung back past the boulders, so close that Dan could see the scratches on Captain Prideau’s boots. Had either man so much as turned his head, he could hardly have failed to notice the small figure flattened between the rocks. But Captain Prideau went straight to the poplar raft and stepped aboard. The scar-faced man followed. They pushed away from the gravel bar and let the current swing them down the river.
    Dan lay motionless, limp from fright. He could still hear Captain Prideau raging in the distance. The sound brought him a small measure of satisfaction. His mouth twitched faintly. A bumpkin and a trespasser, was he? The same to you, Captain Prideau – and you can tell it to the King of France!
    When he could no longer hear the captain’s voice, Dan twisted around painfully and peered through a crack between the boulders. The raft was swinging out of sight beyond a bend. He was trying to crawl from his hiding place when he saw a second raft drifting past on the opposite side of the river. Half a dozen woodsmen were on board, rifles held ready while they watched the shore. Several Indians trotted along the bank above them, looking for signs of the escaped prisoners. Far upstream, at the foot of the rapids, Dan glimpsed the remainder of Captain Prideau’s company. They were hurriedly lashing together a third raft to follow the others.
    All the men had their packs, so it was evident they had broken camp with the intention of continuing downstream. Where this strange river would take them, Dan could not even guess, but he was sure that Captain Prideau would follow it until he was convinced that both Jody Brent and himself were dead.
    But why were the Iroquois not scouting this side of the river? Dan raised his head cautiously and saw the reason. Except for a short low stretch near the gravel bar, the remainder of the bank was high and rocky, rising straight from the water’s edge. No one who had come through the rapids could possibly have climbed ashore along that sheer wall of rock.
    He sank back down behind the boulders, and while he waited for Captain Prideau’s men to pass, he thought of Jody. What had happened to Jody? If he had not drowned, he must be somewhere on the other side of the river, hiding.
    Dan watched until the last of the French and Indians had disappeared beyond the bend. Then he crawled around the rocks and up to a clump of young spruce at the edge of the timber.
    He was so pounded and bruised that the least movement brought pain. Still, there were no bones broken. He got to his feet and took a few uncertain steps, but his knees suddenly folded under him and he slumped down.
    Perhaps if he rested awhile he would be able to travel and look for Jody. He stretched out under the low-hanging spruce branches, and tried to think and plan what to do next. His head still throbbed and he felt sick inside. Somehow he could not manage to get his thoughts straightened out. One dread thought kept repeating itself over and over: Jody must have drowned after the raft went to pieces.
    Dan turned on his back and closed his eyes, trying to ease his throbbing head. He told himself that he must get up after a few minutes and hunt for Jody. A dull, heavy drowsiness crept over him, and he was too weak to fight it off.
    It was long past midday when he awoke. His head had stopped aching now, and he felt terribly hungry. He rolled over and crawled farther back into the timber, then stood up carefully and tried his legs. They were sore and stiff, but that ought to pass after he had walked awhile. Perhaps, though, he had better cut a staff. It would make walking easier, and it would come in handy as a weapon.
    His hand went to his belt where he had thrust the trade knife he had found in the baggage. It was not there. He must have lost it in the rapids.
    It frightened him a little, being without a knife. He thought of the long miles back to the Yadkin, and wondered how he could ever manage to travel so far empty-handed. With a knife he could make other weapons and get food – and even build a fire. Without one he would be helpless.
    Jody had the other knife, the one Dan had taken from the sleeping Frenchman. If he could just find Jody, everything would be all right.
    Dan crept back to the edge of the timber. Carefully he studied the river.
    He was on the opposite side from last night’s camp, and several hundred yards beyond the rapids. Jody ought to be somewhere along that half-mile stretch in front of him. But if he had come through safely, why was it that Captain Prideau’s men had found no trace of him?
    There was a chance, a slim chance, that Jody had managed to reach shore and cover his trail. Then, again, maybe he had clung to a log and been carried down below the bend. In that case he may have come out on this side of the river, if the banks there were low enough.
    Keeping warily to the forest shadows, Dan began working downstream. Every few yards he stopped to examine the ground and study the other bank. There was no sign of any of Captain Prideau’s men, but the thought of them made him uneasy. What if some of the Indians had been left behind to watch below the rapids?
    Dan went far past the bend. He found nothing but a few boot prints, hours old, where Captain Prideau had come ashore. He glanced along the tracks and saw three battered logs which the high water had left wedged among the boulders.
    These logs had formed part of the baggage raft. His eyes fastened on them, slowly widening as he noted the crushed and splintered wood and the great gashes torn in the bark. If the rapids had done that to the raft, what possible chance did two tired swimmers have to come through them alive? It was a miracle that he himself had escaped.
    Dan’s throat tightened and his lip trembled. Suddenly he turned and ran blindly back into the forest and threw himself down in a thicket. He felt sure now that he would never see Jody Brent again.
    The Yadkin must be a hundred miles or more away. Dan believed he could find his way back in time. The hard part was to do it without food or weapons, or any extra covering to keep him warm at night. That would be hard, but the thing he dreaded most was being alone. Not that he was afraid – that was not it. It was something he could not express, a terrible lost sort of feeling that came over him whenever he thought of Jody.
    When he crept back to the river late that afternoon, he found one thing in his favor. The huckleberries were getting ripe.
    Crouching in a berry thicket on the bank, he ate his fill while he studied the mountain ridge on the other side. The easiest way to the Yadkin was to cross the river and return over the same trail Captain Prideau had used the day before.
    Dan stripped off his buckskins and rolled them into a bundle. He crawled down between the boulders to the water’s edge, found two pieces of driftwood, and tied them together with a moccasin string. With the other string he lashed his clothing on top.
    Ordinarily he would never have gone to this trouble; but without the means of making a fire he knew he would have to keep his clothing dry.
    There was no sign of anyone, yet he still felt uneasy. He waited for a few moments, studying every detail of the forest on both sides. A pair of does with fawns tripped daintily along the bank downstream, unafraid. The sight reassured him. He slipped quietly into the water, and clinging to the driftwood with one hand, began swimming toward the opposite shore.
    The current caught him like a millrace and swept him down past the deer. He was several hundred yards below them before his feet touched bottom on the other side. He stumbled out, gasping and teeth' chattering, and dragged the driftwood with his clothing up to the sunny side of a rock.
    Somewhere upstream a crow cawed hoarsely. Far below him he thought he heard an answering caw, but it may have been an echo. Still, he was not sure. He had not noticed any crows all day, and the sound of one calling did not help his uneasiness.
    He lay still in the sun a few minutes, soaking up its warmth while he listened. The more he thought about the call the less he liked it. Suddenly he picked up his buckskins and crept back into the timber. When he was nearly dressed he heard the cawing again. It was closer now, and something about it sent a chill rippling down his spine.
    Dan hurriedly laced his moccasins, then snatched up a stick and tried to force himself to run. Only he could not run. The best he could do was to limp along painfully.
    He had reached a dark ravine curving toward the mountain slope when the cawing sounded behind him. It was hoarse, insistent, and Dan knew it was no crow. He slid behind a tree and glanced back.
    Something moved far behind him. A dim, hunched shape that was silhouetted for an instant at the edge of the timber. He lost sight of it and then he saw it again, coming slowly toward him with a queer hobbling gait. It was not an Indian. It was a white man, and he was hurt.
    “Dan!” a voice called. “Wait! It’s me – Jody!”
    For a few seconds Dan could not move. He clutched the tree, staring. It could not be Jody. Jody was dead.
    Then he saw the red whiskers, and the stubborn, battered face under the black foxskin cap. And he heard Jody’s voice again, saying: “Dan, fer God’s sake – where are you?”
    Abruptly Dan went stumbling to meet him.
    They clasped each other silently. “Lordy!” Dan finally managed to say. “I – I thought ye’d drowned!”
    Jody tried to speak, but at first no sound came. His buckskins were torn, his face was bruised, and there was a gash down his cheek. He carried a stick for a crutch.
    The little man cleared his throat. All at once he tipped his cap to one side and grinned. “I’m kinda feeble at the moment,” he admitted, “but I ain’t buzzard bait yet. Faith, I thought you was the one what had drowned! It sure gave me a turn. An’ when them French varmints come past lookin’ for us, I just knowed I’d never see you again.”
    “Where’ve ye been all the time, Jody? An’ your cap – I don’t see how—”
    “’Twas my cap what saved me, I reckon. I’d as soon loose my britches as my cap. Took me two years’ trappin’ on the farm back North to catch the critter whose hide I’m wearin’, an’ I keep it tied on with a string. Anyhow, when the raft busted up, I was plum’ lost the second I hit the water. After I got bounced all over the river, something hit me an’ my cap tore loose. I made a grab for the cap, an’ tarnation if I didn’t fetch up in a little hollow under the bank. Didn’t know where I was at the time, an’ there wasn’t no way out except to swim, so I jest stayed there.”
    “Ye mean ye’ve been thar all day?”
    “Mighty near it. Hurt my ankle bad, an’ knowed I wouldn’t have a chance if I was seen. The only thing to do was to lie down. ’Twas a good place – the bank curved way in, and the hollow was half under water. When the French come by I flattened down in the water. One feller poked his head inside an’ ne’er even glimpsed me!” Jody stooped and rubbed his injured ankle. “I’d a-come lookin’ for you sooner, but twas near all I could do to crawl out the place an’ walk. I’d given you up for lost when I seen you swimmin’ the river. That’s when I started cawin’ ”
    “That cawin’ scared me nigh to death. Why didn’t ye holler so I’d know ’twas you?”
    “Couldn’t risk it.” Jody straightened, and his eyes studied the shadows. “Some o’ the rascals are still lookin’ for us. They can’t be far off.”
    “I saw ’em all go down the river, Jody. They had their packs, so I don’t believe they’re comin’ back.”
    “They didn’t all leave. I looked out an’ counted ’em when they was goin’ around the bend. There’s three missing.”
    “Mebbe they’re jest takin’ care o’ the hosses, an’ cut back on another trail.”
    “Them hosses ain’t no use to ’em now. My guess is that they turned the critters loose. No, lad, it’s us they’re watchin’ for.”
    “They won’t look for us long.”
    Jody shook his head. “I know one that will. It’s that red varmint with the panther tail. He was left to guard the raft – an he let us steal it right under his nose. He’s in disgrace now, an’ he’ll never be able to show his face to the others till he’s got our scalps hangin’ at his belt.”
    Dan looked down at Jody’s injured foot. He himself was not much better off than Jody. If Panther Tail found their trail and followed, neither of them would have a chance.
    “I – I lost my knife, Jody. Did you save yours?”
    Jody’s grim mouth hardened. He shook his head. “Sorry, lad. The river took mine too.”
    For a moment they stared at each other, both fully realizing what lay ahead. No weapons; no way to get food or build a fire – and the Yadkin a hundred miles or more away.
    Jody shrugged. His mouth twisted into what might have been a grin. “Come on, lad. We’ll give it a try anyway.”
    They began limping painfully through the woods.

Chapter 14: The Cave
    Dan led the way, keeping well back from the river and following the curve of the mountain slope. Jody Brent hobbled slowly behind him. The sun was already dipping below the ridge, and a deep twilight had come to the forest. Dark would follow swiftly. Dan watched for a huckleberry patch, and when he found one they crawled into it and scraped out a hollow in the leaves. They lay without talking, quietly eating huckleberries while they studied the shadows and listened. Dan felt easier when night came. There was safety in the darkness. They stretched out back to back, and raked the leaves over them for warmth.
    “Pray for a rain tomorrow,” said Jody. “If we kin git across that mounting, an’ have a rain to wipe out our tracks, we’ll be all right. Then we kin hole up somewhere a couple o’ days till we feel like travelin’. I don’t like the idea o’ them red varmints takin’ after us when we can’t give ’em a run for our hair.”
    “How’s your ankle?” Dan asked worriedly. “Ye reckon hit’s broke?”
    “No, ’tain’t broke. Just a sprain, I think. It’s swole pretty bad – but I’ll make out with it somehow.”
    Dan knew Jody would do very little climbing tomorrow, or even the day after. Suddenly he remembered the horses. “Lissen, Jody,” he said. “I got an idea. If’n they turned them hosses loose, they ought to be hangin’ around near where we camped last night. In the mornin’ I’m goin’ to sneak over an’ see kin I catch a pair.”
    “Hmm – ’tis worth tryin’. But you’ll have to be mighty careful. Now, before you go to sleep, let’s find out what we got with us so we kin sorta figger how to manage things.”
    There was a single pocket in Dan’s hunting shirt, but it was empty. His pouch, though, was still fastened to his belt. He felt through it. “I got some snares,” he said, “an’ some hooks an’ fishlines. An’ there’s a couple bear teeth a trapper gave me once, an’ a petrified snail I found on the way through Virginny. Guess I ain’t got nothin’ that’ll do us no good.”
    “Ain’t you got something made out o’ steel?”
    “Nary thing.”
    Jody grunted. “I ain’t neither. Them hooks an’ snares won’t be much account without some way to build a fire. Takes hard steel for that. Course, I kin mebbe manage it with a pair o’ flints, providin’ we kin find dry enough tinder. But it won’t be easy to do in this damp mountain air. Flint alone don’t make a spark fly like steel does.”
    “We’ll eat raw meat if’n we have to.”
    “We may have to. I got a few little scraps o’ roast venison I been savin’, an’ about a handful o’ parched corn. That’ll take care o’ breakfast tomorrow.”
    Their future was anything but hopeful, but Dan was too tired to worry. If he could catch the horses in the morning, half their troubles would be over. He fell asleep with this idea in mind, and it was the first thing he thought about when Jody shook him awake just before dawn.
    Dan sat up shivering in the cold, his buckskins clammy with dew. Every muscle was stiff and painfully sore. Jody divided the precious supply of corn and venison. “We better eat it all now,” the little man advised. “After the soakin’ it got, it won’t keep much longer.”
    Dan ate his share slowly, savoring every morsel. The meat was limp and flavorless, and the corn sodden. But pieced out with huckleberries it made a satisfying meal. It was still dark when Dan finished and crawled to the edge of the thicket. “Wait here,” he whispered. “I’m a-goin’ to look for them hosses. I won’t be gone long.” And before Jody could protest, he began making his way stealthily toward the river.
    He could easily judge his position by the low thunder of the rapids off to his left. He crept along silently, feeling out every step, and by the time the sky had paled until there was enough light to see, he was directly behind the camp. Through the trees ahead was the pale misty blur of the river. In dim silhouette against it was the clump of pines where the horses had been tethered.
    Dan flattened against a tree, studying the camp. At first he could see no sign of the horses. Then his eyes caught a slight movement over on the river bank. He froze. Were the three men who had remained behind sleeping here?
    Suddenly he heard a low snarl, and immediately afterward saw one of the horses. It lay dead beside a boulder, and feeding on its carcass was a great tawny panther. Dan was too disappointed to be afraid. He backed slowly away. When he was a safe distance in the timber he turned and hurried to Jody.
    Jody shrugged when he heard the news. “Didn’t think you’d have no luck,” he commented. “If there’s any hosses left, they’re probably a hundred miles off an’ still runnin’. Anyhow, that panther’s a good sign. He wouldn’t a-made that kill if them red varmints had been very near. I got a feelin’ they’re downstream somewhere.”
    He grasped his stick and tried his weight on his injured foot. He winced, then his mouth tightened grimly. “I give them Iroquois just a couple hours to pick up our trail an’ come after us. We gotta hurry. If we kin git up there on the ridge an’ run into a rain, we’ll be safe.”
    The sun was tinting the tops of the trees when they reached the game trail which Captain Prideau’s company had followed two days ago. Was it only two days? It seemed like an age to Dan since he and Jody had come this way, with packs on their shoulders and Captain Prideau’s curses ringing in their ears.
    “Bribe goods!” Jody said through his teeth. “We helped bring the stuff down here – an’ we put it where it belonged. We whipped ’em! They may git our scalps for it – but they’ll not buy any others.”
    Dan thought of the English party, wondering if Captain Prideau would continue down the river in an attempt to stop them. Probably he would try it, for the river seemed to flow in the general direction of the Cherokee country. Well, no matter what happened, he and Jody had done their part. The rest would be up to the English.
    They reached the rocks where the trail steepened, and now Dan forgot about everything but the climb. Some of his stiffness was wearing off, but he was tiring fast already. Jody hobbled doggedly on behind him, using his stick as a crutch. Dan had to help him over the worst spots. They dared not rest for more than a minute at a time, for there was no safety here in the open forest on the lower slope. Higher up were laurel and rhododendron tangles, and above these were great areas covered with a strangling growth of dwarf evergreens. No man could walk through that growth – but hunted men could crawl through it and hide if they had to.
    “If we kin just git a rain,” said Jody, “we’ll strike out to one side o’ the trail an’ take our chances in a new direction.”
    By midday there was no indication of a rain. They were still in the heavy timber, hardly a third of the way up the mountainside. Jody’s face was white and drawn, and each step must have been torture. He made no complaint. Somehow he managed to keep moving. They struggled on, their breath getting shorter and shorter. Exhaustion stopped them every few minutes, then they would plunge ahead, fighting to climb as high as possible before-they had to stop again. And always they kept a fearful watch on the trail below.
    Late that afternoon they passed the heavy timber and reached a hump where the scrub growth began. As nearly as Dan could tell, they were about halfway to the top. The rest of the way was hidden in clouds. Occasionally a small cloud would drift over the hump, leaving drops of moisture clinging to Dan’s buckskins, and hiding Jody behind him.
    Their slow pace frightened him, for ordinarily he and Jody would have been miles away on the other side of the ridge by now. At this rate it would take them a month to reach the Yadkin – if they could last that long, and if the Iroquois did not find them. He was beginning to believe that the Indians had missed them yesterday and followed Captain Prideau down the river. Otherwise Jody and himself would have been overtaken hours ago.
    “I’m about done,” Jody muttered. “Mebbe we’d—” He stopped as a darker cloud rolled across the slope and scattering raindrops began to patter on the boulders. “Look – she’s gettin’ ready to pour. Thank God!”
    Dan cast one swift glance on either side, then grasped Jody by the hand and went struggling over a pile of shale to his left. Rain slashed downward suddenly, washing out all trace of their progress. It continued for nearly half an hour, and somehow the two managed to keep moving while it lasted. When it stopped, and the evening sun came out red below the mist, they had reached a ledge far to one side of the trail. Jody collapsed. Dan sank weakly beside him.
    Rain water ran in a steady stream about them and trickled over the ledge, but for a long time neither could find the strength to move. The sun touched the edge of the ridge across the valley. The air chilled with approaching twilight. Finally Jody roused himself.
    “Git up, an’ take off your clothes an’ wring em’ out.”
    They stripped off their buckskins and squeezed them as dry as they could. Pulling them on again, they crawled into a tangle of dwarf evergreens and worked until dark breaking off small branches. Now they burrowed down in the pile, and huddling back to back for warmth, covered themselves with the sprays of needles.
    The tightly grown tangle sheltered them from the wind, but it was miserably cold up here on the mountainside. Their damp buckskins made it worse. Dan slept fitfully. Dawn found him blue-lipped and half-frozen, and hungrier than he had ever been in his life. Jody was in even worse condition, for his foot had swollen during the night, and it throbbed with the least movement.
    Jody was not yet concerned with the food problem. “If a man feels hungry,” he said, “then there’s nothing wrong with him. It’s when he don’t feel hungry that it’s time to worry. But that ain’t what’s botherin’ me now.”
    “What d’ye think we’d better do, Jody?”
    “We’ll never reach the Yadkin like we are, lad. You ain’t no more fit to travel than me. What we both need is a fire, an’ a dry place to camp an’ rest a couple days.”
    Jody was right. They could not go on as they were. “ Thar ought to be a cave around here somewhere,” Dan said.
    “We can’t camp on this side. Too risky.”
    “I think them varmints have done given us up for dead.”
    “Mebbe, but I ain’t takin’ no chances. Not with that panther-tailed rascal. He’d rather be dead himself than not have our scalps. No, we got to git on the other side o’ the mountain before we make camp. You lead off, an’ keep headin’ to the left around this scrub.”
    It took hours of painful, torturous climbing to reach the top. They had little to eat on the way, for huckleberries were scarce on the upper slope. Going down on the other side was far more difficult. It was wilder and rockier and steeper, and the scrub growth had given way to gnarled pines that fought for existence in the rocks. The slope was strewn with boulders, some of them as big as houses, all jumbled and broken and smashed together as if an angry giant had torn away part of the ridge and hurled the pieces down the mountainside.
    Jody was about finished. “We camp here,” he muttered. “Look around for a cave, lad.”
    Nearly every pile of rocks offered shelter. The first likely place Dan found showed unmistakable signs of being occupied by a bear. He passed it up, and after some exploring, saw what he was looking for. It was a narrow, dry den under a projecting shelf, partly covered by boulders. A small spring dripped from the ledge near the entrance. Down below it were several patches of huckleberries.
    “Just the place,” affirmed Jody, crawling wearily inside. He unlaced the moccasin from his bad foot, stretched it out carefully in front of him, then sat back awhile with closed eyes and clenched hands. Finally he glanced up at Dan who was studying him worriedly.
    “See if you kin find a couple large pieces o’ flint, lad,” he said. “I’m gonna have a try at a fire.”
    Dan picked up more than a dozen flint fragments outside. While Jody was testing a pair, he searched through the debris in the cave and gathered a pile of dry leaves and twigs. Out of these, somehow, they had to make tinder.
    With the sharp edge of a flint, Dan scraped a tiny pile of dust and shavings from the driest of the twigs. Jody selected some of the leaves and pounded them to a powder. Dan watched, breathless, while Jody huddled over the scrapings and tried to strike a spark. Suddenly he remembered his snares.
    “While ye’re worryin’ about that,” he said, “I’d better see about gittin’ some meat.”
    He went down the slope a hundred yards and set his snares along the edge of a thicket. Coming back, he filled the pocket of his hunting shirt with berries.
    When he entered the cave, Jody was still patiently striking the flints together. “Here,” said Dan, offering him the berries. “Eat your dinner an’ let me try it awhile.”
    “It’s no use lad. You kin strike fire all right, but you can’t make them flints throw a spark. Must be too damp or somethin’, I dunno.”
    Dan tried it, but without result. Discouraged, he dropped the flints and his eyes wandered about the cave. Somehow they had to get a fire started. Already the sun had passed beyond the ridge and the evening chill was creeping over this side of the mountain. Another night like last night would just about finish them.
    His attention was suddenly caught by several pieces of larger wood near the entrance. Evidently they had been swept there years ago by a rockslide or a storm. All of it was bone dry and hard. He selected a perfectly round stick, broke off a two-foot length of it, and laboriously scraped both ends sharp with a piece of flint. Going outside, he snapped a short green branch from a shrub. Strung loosely with the string from Jody’s moccasin, it made a crude but very efficient bow for a bow drill.
    “Faith!” said Jody admiringly. “Why didn’t I think o’ that?”
    “I jest hope it works. Ye’d better cross your fingers an’ pray.”
    The round stick formed the drill. He twisted the bowstring about it and set the drill on a larger stick that had been split. Holding the drill upright with a flat pebble, he began sawing back and forth with the bow.
    The drill hummed, and a fine powder gathered at the point. Jody crouched beside it, adding particles of scrapings. Sweat glistened on Dan’s forehead and a leaden feeling came to his arms. Still he worked steadily with the bow.
    A thin wisp of smoke arose. Jody blew on it gently, fanned it, prayed aloud, and finally nursed it to a flame.
    Dan fell back, exhausted but triumphant. Fire gleamed bright and warm, throwing its cheerful radiance about the cave.
    They dined that night on a pair of grouse from Dan’s snares, and afterwards they fell asleep, warm and comfortable, on a bed of green pine needles.
    Jody’s foot was better the next day, though it was in no shape for travel. While they rested by the fire and gathered strength, Jody experimented with pieces of flint and chipped two long slivers into knives. Dan found a forked branch which he converted into a crutch by burning it to the right length and scraping the ends smooth. The charring process gave him an idea. He made a staff for himself, with one end sharpened so it could be used as a weapon.
    The following morning Jody tried walking with his crutch. “I believe we kin hit the trail tomorrow,” he said. Anyhow, I don’t aim to tarry here no longer. Makes me oneasy.” He frowned down at the valley below them, and then studied the great rolling sweep of country that lay beyond. Suddenly he seemed puzzled.
    “This up-an’-down land gits me all tangled,” he went on. “I could mebbe take us back the way we come – at least so far as where the French camped under that big bluff – but I hate to risk it. When Panther Tail don’t find us nowhere else, he’ll come lookin’ for us on the old trail. He’s probably on it now, watchin’ for us. An’ I got the feelin’ that his pardner, that big-footed varmint, is with ’im – as well as one o’ Cap’n Prideau’s men. We wouldn’t stand a chance agin all three.”
    “Aw, the French wouldn’t go to all that bother about us.”
    “Don’t fool yourself, lad. Hate’s a terrible thing, an’ it keeps eatin’ on a man. Remember how that Panther Tail devil looked at you after you pushed him into the fire? That didn’t help any, you know. And after what we done to ’em, them French renegades hate us worse’n mad dogs. A man like Cap’n Prideau would offer a reward for proof that we’re dead, an’ that means there’ll be a Frenchman scoutin’ around with them two red devils. If I just knowed this country better....”
    Dan’s eyes leaped from valley to ridge and steadied on the horizon. He looked at a spot he could see only in his memory – a place that lay nearly a week’s journey ahead. “I’ll take us back,” he said slowly. “I’ll take us right straight to the Yadkin, an’ I won’t go nowhere near the trail we come on.”
    “Eh?” Jody glanced at him sharply. “We’ll see about that tomorrow,” he said skeptically. “In the meantime we’d better git some food ready. Can’t tell what’ll happen.”
    Dan spent the morning looking after his snares. A fox made the rounds ahead of him, and by noon all he had caught was one bird. While Jody cooked it, Dan began resetting the snares farther down the slope. Not for a moment did he relax his vigilance. He was placing the noose on his second snare when his glance wandered over the rocks and crept up to the bald ridge behind the cave.
    High up there he thought he saw something move like the distant figure of a man. His eyes swept down to the cave, and he saw the thin, telltale wisp of smoke rising where Jody was keeping the fire going.
    Suddenly he crammed the remaining snares into his pouch and, hugging the shadows of the rocks, went scrambling back to Jody as fast as he could climb.
    “I – I think I seen somebody up on the ridge!” he said.
    Without a word Jody plucked the half-roasted grouse from the fire and thrust it into the pocket of his hunting shirt. He picked up his knife and crutch and started for the entrance. Dan grabbed his bow drill, tied it hastily to his belt, and was on the point of stamping out the fire when Jody stopped him.
    “Leave it burn, lad! They’ll find it anyhow – an’ if it’s still burnin’ they may waste time waitin’ for us.”
    “But mebbe hit warn’t nobody I seen – mebbe—”
    “We ain’t takin’ that chance. We’re leavin’ now – fast. I been afraid o’ this. Once them rascals seen our trail, they’d know I was crippled an’ couldn’t go far. It’s just about time they come scoutin’ around here to see where we’d hid. Hurry, lad – I’ll keep up with you!”
    Dan took a final look at the country lying to the east, trying to fix every ridge and valley firmly in his mind. Then he plunged down between the rocks with Jody’s crutch thumping steadily behind him.
    During the first two hours he kept to the hard ground as much as possible, using every trick he could think of to hide their tracks. Springs were numerous along the lower slope; he waded in them frequently, working gradually southward along the curve of the valley. Late that afternoon he struck out boldly through the big timber as if he were heading east across the next ridge. Instead, he sent Jody wading downstream at the first creek, while he himself crossed and climbed upward until his moccasin prints were lost in the rocks.
    This was his final trick of the day, and he depended upon it to save their lives. Stepping backward carefully and imitating Jody’s dragging gait, he returned to the creek and went splashing after Jody. They continued wading downstream until after dark. If everything went well, Panther Tail would be running in circles across the next ridge tomorrow, while he and Jody were miles off in another direction.
    Wearily, they crawled out of the creek and bedded down in the leaves on the bank.
    “How’s that ankle?” Dan asked.
    “Walking don’t seem to make it no worse.”
    “Well, we ought to have near a day’s start on them varmints tomorrow. If’n we kin keep a-movin’, I figger we kin reach the Yadkin ahead of ’em.”
    “The trouble is, lad, I – well, I don’t want to scare you, but I’m kinda lost. I could take us east, but Lord knows where we’d be. I been in the woods all my life, but there ain’t nary man in a hundred kin go through strange country an’ come out at a spot he ain’t seen but once.”
    “Ne’er mind,” Dan insisted. “Ye jest foller me tomorrow. I done got the feel o’ this wilderness land. Feel it in my feet an’ my blood. I aim to tromp all over it soon – aim to tromp straight west some day an’ see what’s beyonst all them mountings.”
    “Hmm – if you can find your paw again an’ save your hair, you’ll have all the trompin’ you’ll want for a spell. But I don’t mind follerin’ you. You couldn’t do no worse’n me. Now git to sleep an’ pray that them plucked-haired buzzards don’t figger out your tricks.”

Chapter 15: Flight Through the Wilderness
    They were up and moving again at the first gray light of dawn. Dan followed his nose and let instinct guide him. A few weeks ago he would have felt utterly lost in this mighty stretch of black forest, but a change had come over him during the days since he had been separated from the Squire. For one thing, he had learned to think for himself. And every sense had become sharpened. He understood the land now, and he could feel the right direction almost as surely as if he were following a marked trail.
    His main worry was Jody. The short rest in the cave had helped them both and cut the edge from their exhaustion. Jody’s foot, though, was still badly swollen. He doubted if the little man could keep up the pace he had set for more than a few hours.
    Thinking of this, Dan resolved to pick the easiest and shortest route, and go as fast and as far as they could while their strength lasted. Later, when they were tired, they could resort to more tricks and gain more time. By now he was certain that it was an Indian he had seen back on the ridge. It was not like an animal to be climbing over those bald rocks where there was neither food nor water. Elk kept to the meadows, and a bear climbed only to gain his den.
    Dan followed the game trails, and hurried straight down through the connecting valleys that curved eastward. He made no effort to hide their tracks. Jody divided the grouse and they ate it as they swung along. Except for a few handfuls of huckleberries, it was all they had to eat that day.
    Not once did Jody lag behind. That afternoon, seeing the white, set look on the little man’s face, Dan decided that Jody had had enough. But Jody refused to rest. “Keep a-goin’!” he urged. “I’ll stay with you an’ sleep it off tonight. Remember – we’ve got the advantage. We kin travel early an’ late when the light’s too poor for a tracker to read signs. We’re goin’ to keep a-movin’ till it’s plum, black dark.”
    They were somewhere in a deep ravine when night finally shut down on them. Dan groped between the trunks of immense trees and found a soft spot in a bed of ferns. They huddled against a log and fell asleep instantly.
    Dan was awakened in the dim dawn light by the sound of Jody muttering to himself. He thought at first that Jody was sick, then he realized that the little man was looking at the object behind him. Dan stared at the thing, utterly dumfounded.
    “I thought ’twas a log,” Jody whispered hoarsely. “But I’ll be plucked an’ singed if it ain’t a blamed bone!”
    Beyond it were more bones and a skull as big as a man with immense curving tusks. What kind of beast was this? Where did it come from? Were there any more like it in this strange, dark land?
    Dan licked dry lips and peered fearfully at the forest shadows. For the moment Panther Tail was forgotten. “D’ye think we-we’ll run into one – alive?” he asked.
    “Naw, I don’t think so. They don’t live no more. See, them bones is petrified. They been here a mighty long time. I’ve heard tell o’ varmints like this, though I never believed in ’em till now.”
    Dan left the spot regretfully. He resolved, if he escaped Panther Tail, that he would come back here again some day and have a better look. Perhaps he could find more bones. Perhaps, even, he could find one of the creatures alive. At the thought he shivered with a delicious fright.
    This wild country was growing on him more and more. Beyond the unknown river where he had left Captain Prideau, on the other side of the distant blue wall he had seen, he would probably find all manner of strange things. The idea comforted him throughout the morning and gave strength to his tired feet. Somehow Jody kept up with him.
    By midday, though, they were both failing rapidly. Now Dan went wading again, and climbed to the higher ground where their footprints would be lost in the shale.
    Huckleberries kept them going until evening. At dawn, when they crawled weakly out of the thicket where they had slept, Dan realized they would soon have to have fresh meat. There was not strength enough in berries alone to take them to the Yadkin.
    But fresh meat meant building a fire. And before they dare risk a fire, they would have to find a safe hiding place.
    Dan went to great pains that day to hide their tracks. Late that afternoon they made camp in a rocky ravine where the light from their fire would be well hidden.
    While Jody labored with the bow drill, Dan crept out hunting with his staff. He hoped he could spear a grouse, but if that failed, he still had a few snares which he intended to set.
    The grouse kept warily out of reach, and he was either too tired or not skilful enough to spear one. Then he heard the cooing of pigeons over in the cedars.
    Farther down the edge of the ravine there were hundreds of them – the first he had seen in this part of the wilderness. Probably they were the stragglers from some huge flight not many miles away, for these birds always traveled in immense numbers.
    Dan was delighted. Pigeons were such easy game that he could almost have caught them with his bare hands. He had no trouble creeping up on them and knocking nearly a dozen from their perches.
    Jody had a fire going when he returned. At the sight of the pigeons, the pinched look vanished from Jody’s face and he seemed happy for the first time in days. When the birds were plucked and spitted on green sticks to roast over the coals, Dan sat back with a long-drawn sigh of relief and satisfaction. Soon they would eat. They could eat all they wanted, and there would be plenty left over for tomorrow. And tonight they would sleep warm and dry instead of shivering in a damp thicket and worrying about Panther Tail.
    Jody licked his lips. With the point of his flint knife he tested one of the birds. Hungrily, Dan watched them brown. Wouldn’t they ever get done?
    Somewhere in the distance a fox began yapping. It stopped abruptly, then started again. Dan sat up, listening, suddenly cold inside.
    Then Jody heard it. His mouth opened, and clicked shut like a steel trap. He stared at Dan and the two crouched frozen. Far off, another fox yapped in answer. Dan swallowed. His hands began shaking, and he felt sick. All evening he had been sure they were safe, sure that he had managed to hide their footprints in the rocks. “That-that warn’t no fox a-callin’!” he whispered tremulously.
    “’Twas a durned red fox with plucked hair!” Jody spat out. “I’d know that Iroquois signal anywhere.”
    “How they ever picked up our trail so fast—”
    “It’s the fire. Them plucked-haired varmints kin smell camp smoke a couple miles off.”
    “That must be it. An’ by this time they know where we’re headin’—”
    Despairingly, they looked at each other again. All at once they snatched up the half-done birds, crammed them into pouches and pockets, and Dan kicked earth over the fire and stamped it out. Without another word they slipped off in the night, moving as fast as they could feel their way through the trees.
    They groped blindly on, tripping, stumbling, falling over logs, not caring where they went so long as they put a safe distance between themselves and the ravine.
    A long time later they crawled wearily into an azalea thicket and began to eat. “Don’t waste a scrap,” Jody mumbled. “Them birds has got to last us. It’s goin’ to be hard scrabblin’ from now on, with no more fires or cookin’.”
    When they had picked the bones dry, they burrowed down in the leaves and lay back to back as they had done on other nights.
    At the first light of dawn they were up and moving again. “There’s no rest for the weary,” Jody said grimly. “I hope you know where you’re goin’. I'm plum’ mixed up.
    “I can’t tell ye where we are, but I know we re headed right.”
    “Then God guide your feet an’ give ’em strength. If you guess wrong, it’ll mean our hair.”
    * * *
    They swept on, over ridges and across valleys, down ravines and up creeks, pausing only to get their breath and nibble at a pigeon.
    If that day was like a nightmare, the day following it was worse. Only fear kept them moving now. Once, when they climbed, gasping, to the crest of a ridge, they glanced back at the valley behind them and for the first time saw their pursuers. Saw them splashing through a wide creek that they themselves had crossed less than an hour ago – three distant dots that were the figures of men moving, moving swiftly on.
    Jody swore. “That big rascal must be Big Foot. The other’s got to be a Frenchman. And Panther Tail’s leading ’em. Lissen, lad,” he said swiftly, “my ankle won’t hold out much longer. At the next creek you wade downstream, an’ I’ll go on across. They’re bound to catch me anyhow, an’ there’s no use in us both—”
    “I’m stayin’ with ye!” Dan snapped. “We ain’t got far to go.”
    Desperately he searched the country to the east. The Yadkin must be near. But where? He could see no sign of the river, nor did any of the country look familiar.
    Yet some instinct told him that the river was close. Perhaps it was hidden over yonder beyond the next ridge. If he could just find it before night, and if he could locate the Squire or Tandy.... They could not be far away.
    “Hurry!” Jody growled. “They’re startin’ to climb after us.” The three pursuing figures were swarming up the boulders on the bank; now they vanished among the tree shadows.
    Dan turned and went stumbling down the slope. He tried to move faster, but his strength was nearly gone. By the time they had entered the pines beyond the next hump, it was all he could do to force one leg ahead of the other. How Jody kept going was beyond understanding. But Jody was actually running on his bad foot and using his crutch only to drive himself along.
    They stumbled through the pines and came out abruptly upon a bluff. Dan stared in dismay at a long meadow below. It would take an hour to go around the place. They would have to risk crossing it in the open.
    A small sound far back in the pines drove them along the edge of the bluff, searching frantically for a way down. Dan found a ravine, slid into it, fell, got up painfully and tried to run. His feet would hardly work. Somehow he and Jody managed to reach the meadow. They tottered out over the grass, feet dragging as they headed for the shelter of the distant timber.
    “Thar’s a creek out yonder,” Dan panted. “Keep a-goin’! If we kin reach the creek before they see us, we kin duck down under the bank an’ foller it to the woods.”
    Someone else had been through the meadow recently, Dan realized as they limped forward. There was, in fact, a faint trail worn through the grass. But he had no time to puzzle over it now.
    There was a cry far behind him. It rose to a shrill, horrifying whoop that echoed and re-echoed across the meadow. Triumphant, revengeful, it beat upon Dan’s ears with a dreadful blood-chilling effect that few other sounds on earth possessed. It was the war whoop of the Iroquois.
    Something whistled past and slithered into the weeds a few yards away. An arrow.
    The cry rose again, and Dan looked back and saw Panther Tail bounding from the mouth of the ravine.
    Jody stumbled, fell. He fumbled for his crutch, got up and tried to run, but his knees gave way under him. “Go on!” he said hoarsely to Dan. “Save yourself – I’m played out!”
    The creek was only a few yards away. Dan grasped Jody’s arm and dragged him over the grass. He made the bank, and giving Jody a heave, sent him sliding down to momentary safety. Eyes on the swiftly approaching Panther Tail, Dan crouched on the edge and drew his flint knife.
    “I ain’t leavin’ ye,” he shouted back to Jody. His fingers tightened on the knife. He braced his toes for a forward lunge when Panther Tail came.
    If he could just strike one good blow at the ugly red devil! After all these long and terrible miles, he thought what a pleasure it would be to feel his knife ripping into Panther Tail’s throat.
    Then he saw that the Indian had stopped. Two other figures burst suddenly from the ravine. They ran a few paces over the meadow and stopped also.
    For a moment Dan could not understand what had happened. Then he heard men shouting from the timber on the other side of the creek. There was the sharp, whiplike crack of a rifle. With a quick backward glance at the timber, Dan’s eyes fastened again on Panther Tail, hardly fifty yards ahead.
    There was a second shot and more shouts. He saw Panther Tail bound upward with a loud cry; one hand clutched his breast and he fell heavily.
    “Jody! Dan! This wav – up the creek!”
    It sounded like Jeremy Tucker.
    At first Dan could not believe it. Then he saw a wisp of smoke through the trees and glimpsed running figures. Hands shaking under a sudden wild surge of hope, he leaped down and pulled Jody to his feet. With his arm about the little man’s waist, they went staggering through the shallow water to the timber.
    A big man burst into view and ran to help them. It was Jeremy! Behind him raced the Squire. And behind the Squire came George, swiftly ramming a fresh charge into his rifle.
    Back under the pines beyond them was a small log cabin. It was built against a bluff.
    Only now did Dan realize where he was. He had reached the spot he had been heading for all the time. This was the Squire’s land, and in front of him was ’Lisha Bean’s cabin.

Chapter 16: The Cabin
    “It beats all how he done it,” Jody Brent was saying the next day. Jody, wrapped in an elk robe, was resting comfortably in front of the cabin, his injured foot steaming in a bark container of hot mud which Jeremy had prepared for him. “Me, I was plum’ lost,” Jody went on. “If it hadn’t a-been for him
    “Shucks,” said the Squire, hiding a note of pride. “He always was a fox in the woods. Ain’t nary ’nother lad like him.”
    Dan stirred slightly on his soft bed of balsam needles under a tree, then decided it was better to lie still. He didn’t want to move for days. When he looked back on it, he did not see how Jody and he had ever managed to keep going – especially Jody. He himself was just one big throbbing ache all over. And poor Jody was like a scarecrow.
    All their hardships, though, had not hurt Jody’s tongue in the least. Jody was the kind who talked little as a rule, but he was still telling about their adventures, and George and Jeremy and the Squire were hanging on every word and asking for more details.
    How many times Jody had already told it, Dan did not know. He had fallen asleep yesterday when Jody first started talking, and here it was nearly noon the next day. Dan sighed. Things would not have worked out so well had not Panther Tail started whooping when he did. It was that whooping that had really saved them, for it had brought George and the Squire running with their rifles.
    By turning his head slightly he could see the little cabin and the high bluff behind it that formed its back side. He thought he had never seen such a pretty place. Ferns grew in big clusters over the face of the bluff and even on the cabin roof. A fine spring gushed from the rocks just a few feet from the door, and all about it were giant pines that seemed to reach to the sky. The place was alive with birds, and farther down in the pines he could hear a turkey gobbling.
    And all this was home. It was good just to lie here and look at it and to know that he was safe and with friends again.
    The Squire bent over a pot simmering on the fire and spooned a huge helping of stew into a bark dish. “Here, Danny,” he said. “Ye’d better eat a mite more. Ye’re all skin an’ bone.”
    “I wish ye’d stuff some down Jody an’ stop his tongue a-waggin’,” said Dan. “He’s makin’ out like ’twas me that done everything. He ain’t said nothin’ ’bout himself. ’Twas him that cut the raft loose an’—”
    “I’m fuller’n a tick,” grinned Jody, ignoring the food. “Lissen, you all should a-seen how he ups an’ knocks that red varmint into the fire, an’ then, on the trail he—”
    There was no end to it. Dan turned around and looked apologetically at Jeremy. “I – I’m mighty sorry about losing your rifle, Jeremy,” he said. “Hit fair makes me sick. Honest—”
    “Eh? My rifle?” Jeremy chuckled. “Faith, I was wishin’ ye really had lost it – the plaguy thing always shot too high. But no, the rifle follered ye back safe an’ sound, jest like a lost dawg a-comin’ home. ’Twas kind o’ the rascals to tote it all the way back to the Yadkin for ye. An’ they left it behind ’em when they departed, bein’ as they’ll have no use for it where they’re goin’. Yep, an’ they left a nice weapon for Jody, too – as well as a couple other little things. See?”
    Jeremy winked and held up a pair of willow hoops. Each had something that looked like a horse’s tail laced in the center.
    “Now them,” Jeremy added, holding the objects in the smoke, “is the purtiest things in the world, to my way o’ thinkin’. I’d like to see every pesky Iroquois scalp in the country, scraped an’ dried jest the same way.”
    George tossed his cocked hat into the air and laughed. Then he shook his head seriously. “The way things look, Jeremy, you’re going to have your chance at a lot of them before many more months pass.”
    “The thing that’s been a-worryin’ me,” said Dan, “is Cap’n Prideau stoppin’ that other party. If’n he did, thar ain’t no tellin’—”
    “Haw!” Jody interrupted. “Don’t you think for a minute that he ever caught ’em. In the first place, he fooled around too long tryin’ to git his hands on us. In the second place, them other fellers had ’im out-smarted all the time. They had ’im thinkin’ they was comin’ by way o’ the Yadkin – an’ while he was a-cussin’ an’ a-rarin’ up here, they was makin tracks to the south.”
    The Squire looked thoughtful. “O’ course, what the final outcome of all this business will be, nobody kin say. Ye can’t never tell what a redskin will do. An presents or no presents, ye got to remember that the Cherokees favor the French.”
    “Well,” said George, “there’s one thing certain – the French won’t be able to bribe them!”
    Jeremy roared. The Squire slapped his knee. “That’s the greatest thing I e’er hyeared tell of! If’n the Cherokees take our side, the hull country kin thank Jody an’ Danny for what they done.”
    “George,” Dan asked, “whar’d ye go that day you an’ me got all mixed up back yonder in the hills?”
    “Why,” George answered, “I returned to the meadow when I said I would – only ’twasn’t the same meadow. So I went back to the creek – and ’twasn’t the same creek. The next day I decided that the only way to catch up with you was to find this cabin you’d told me about. Didn’t have a bit of trouble doing that. Been waiting around ever since.”
    “Whar’s Tandy?” Dan asked next.
    At this question everyone was suddenly silent. The Squire peered through the pines at the bluff across the meadow and the line of blue mountains beyond. He frowned.
    “Danny,” he said, troubled, “we’re all waitin’ till Tandy comes back. From now on, everything depends on the news he brings. ‘Him an’ his clan helped search for ye when we larned ye was missin’, but thar was a rain that night along the ridge an’ ’twas hard to pick up a trail. Every sign was lost in the rocks. Tandy an’ his boys held a powwow, then they lit out for a pass back in the mountings. I think they knowed the French had ye, same as they had Jody – an’ they figgered the quickest way to find ye was to watch that pass whar the French had to cross to the Cherokee country.
    “I knowed ye’d escape if’n ye got the chance, an’ if that failed, I knowed Tandy would git ye free. So thar was nothin’ the rest of us could do but stay here an’ wait an’ hope. As for Tandy, he won’t be back till the big council is over.”
    George said, “What the council decides will affect all of us. If the Cherokees go to war, it’ll mean the end of my surveying.”
    Dan nodded glumly. It would mean the end of everything for the Boones. Well, they could not do anything now but wait for Tandy.
    During the next few days the men passed the time by repairing the cabin. At first they had only their knives and hatchets for tools, and very little was accomplished. Dan and Jody began helping them as they regained their strength, and with the discovery of an old ax blade of ’Lisha Bean’s, the work took on a more important scale.
    The ax was sharpened, a handle fitted, then trees were felled and the cabin enlarged. Though Jeremy’s shoulder was nearly well, he was not yet strong enough for log lifting. He did some hunting and trapping, and made Dan a foxskin cap like Jody’s to replace the one he had lost, and several pairs of moccasins.
    Two weeks passed, and there was still no sign of Tandy. By now Dan had fully recovered from his hardships, and Jody was able to walk with only a slight limp. He and Jody peeled logs, carried stones, and dug clay in the creek for a new fireplace. Dan did not like to think that all this work might be wasted, and that he might never have a chance to live in the cabin. But it was much better to be doing something than sitting around idle.
    Another week slipped by. The cabin was finished now, and the Squire began to pace about, restless and worried. Dan followed him around, trying to think of new tasks to keep their hands busy. At his suggestion they split a big log and hewed benches and a table.
    “An’ we ought to clear out the spring,” said Dan, “an’ mebbe build a springhouse. Maw, she’d sure like a spring-house to keep the vittles cold.”
    They cleared out the spring and built a springhouse.
    “An’ ye know how Maw loves a garden,” Dan said next. “She’d be plum’ tickled if’n we fixed up a place. ’Twould have to have a high fence around it to keep out the deer.”
    The Squire looked at him thoughtfully. “Ye seem mighty certain that we’re comin’ right back down here to live, sonny.”
    “Well, thar’s nothin’ like gittin’ ready – an’ we’re sure comin’ back some day.”
    “Hmp!” the Squire muttered in his beard. But he began cutting stakes for a fence and enclosing a rich corner of the meadow for a garden.
    Tandy had not yet appeared by the time the fence was finished. Dan was beginning to despair. Perhaps something had happened. Perhaps Tandy was never coming back.
    “We ought to have a little barn,” he told the Squire. “We’ll be drivin’ the hosses down, all loaded, an’ thar’s got to be a safe place to keep ’em when they git here. Ye don’t want ’em to git et by panthers.”
    “True,” the Squire grumbled. “True.” So he began planning a barn. And with four extra pairs of hands to help him, that building was completed before the week was out.
    Finally there was nothing left to do. The Squire sat on the steps and whittled, and his frown deepened. George sat near him and whittled too, and big Jeremy moved restlessly about the cook pot, muttering to himself. All eyes expectantly watched the meadow. But nothing ever moved out there but the deer and an occasional buffalo.
    It was then that Dan said, “I got a feelin’ we ought to do some huntin’ today. A heap o’ huntin’. We ought to have some turkey, a couple o’ fat bucks, an’ mebbe some trout an’ pigeons.”
    “Ye talk like we’re likely to have visitors,” the Squire said.
    “I jest got a feelin’,” Dan answered. “Hit pays to mind your feelings. Thar’s a full moon tonight. Injins always go by the moon.”
    So they all went hunting that day. When evening came, the cook pot was bubbling full of stew, and birds and fish and haunches of venison were roasting about the fire. The Squire and the others sat in front of the cabin and watched the moon climb over the ridge. When the moon was high above the meadow, Tandy appeared.
    He came so quietly that at first he seemed to be alone. Then Ayunini followed him into the firelight, and behind him came others, and still others, until the space in front of the cabin was crowded and overflowing with Indians.
    They stood grave and silent while Tandy strode up to the cabin. Tandy looked every inch a chief. He wore a fine robe of cream-colored doeskin, and long-fringed leggings covered with beads. In his hair, held in place with a wampum band, were two great white plumes and a fan of green parrot feathers. Dan sprang to meet him with a glad cry. They clasped hands.
    “My brother,” Tandy said, smiling. “It make the heart of Tandy glad to see his brother safe. Tandy try hard help his white brother in trouble. But white brother mighty smart. Help himself before Tandy get there!”
    Solemnly, Tandy opened a bundle. He took from it a long white belt of wampum, much finer than any Dan had ever seen. “To the father of my white brother,” he said, “I give the white belt of peace. For as long as the great sun rise in east and set in west, Tsaraghee council promise friendship. Tsaraghee make big treaty with English. All English friend of Tsaraghee now.”
    The Squire straightened. Worry and care dropped from his shoulders and he was suddenly a new man. He made a fine speech of thanks to Tandy, then he invited everyone to sit down to the food.
    It turned into a laughing, joyous feast that lasted three days. The Cherokees had brought corn and beans and dried squash, and pemmican made of berries and maple sugar, and Dan stuffed himself until he could eat no more. They hunted and played games and raced in the meadow, and in the evening they sat in a big circle about a council fire, telling stories while the peace pipe was passed around.
    Dan hated to see it end. Soon many trails would part. He and the Squire would have to begin their long journey northward to get the rest of the family. And George and Jeremy and Jody Brent would have to continue their surveying. Chance had brought them all together in the wilderness. They had become firm friends. It would be hard to tell them good-by, for it might be a long time before he ever saw any of them again.
    Well, when the surveying was done, there was no reason why George and the others could not come down for a visit. Perhaps they could cross the mountains together.
    Dan brightened when he thought of this. He remembered the wild valleys to the west, the great trees and the strange bones, and he could smell again the sharp keen scents of the high country and feel the mystery of it. Aye, soon he would tramp all over that tumbled wilderness. And he would cross the great blue wall of mountains where no white man had ever been, and find out for himself what lay beyond.
    The spell of the land was on him, and he knew it would never leave him as long as he lived.

    1941

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