He resumed his rapid march eastward.  With never a backward glance the saddened party followed.  Nell kept close beside Jim, and the old man tramped after them with bowed head.  The sun set, but Wingenund never slackened his stride.  Twilight deepened, yet he kept on.

“Indian, we can go no further to-night, we must rest,” cried Jim, as Nell stumbled against him, and Mr. Wells panted wearily in the rear.

“Rest soon,” replied the chief, and kept on.

Darkness had settled down when Wingenund at last halted.  The fugitives could see little in the gloom, but they heard the music of running water, and felt soft moss beneath their feet.

They sank wearily down upon a projecting stone.  The moss was restful to their tired limbs.  Opening the pack they found food with which to satisfy the demands of hunger.  Then, close under the stone, the fugitives sank into slumber while the watchful Indian stood silent and motionless.

Jim thought he had but just closed his eyes when he felt a gentle pressure on his arm.

“Day is here,” said the Indian.

Jim opened his eyes to see the bright red sun crimsoning the eastern hills, and streaming gloriously over the colored forests.  He raised himself on his elbow to look around.  Nell was still asleep.  The blanket was tucked close to her chin.  Her chestnut hair was tumbled like a schoolgirl’s; she looked as fresh and sweet as the morning.

“Nell, Nell, wake up,” said Jim, thinking the while how he would love to kiss those white eyelids.

Nell’s eyes opened wide; a smile lay deep in their hazel shadows.

“Where a I?  Oh, I remember,” she cried, sitting up.  “Oh, Jim, I had such a sweet dream.  I was at home with mother and Kate.  Oh, to wake and find it all a dream!  I am fleeing for life.  But, Jim, we are safe, are we not?”

“Another day, and we’ll be safe.”

“Let us fly,” she cried, leaping up and shaking out her crumpled skirt.  “Uncle, come!”

Mr. Wells lay quietly with his mild blue eyes smiling up at her.  He neither moved nor spoke.

“Eat, drink,” said the chief, opening the pack.

“What a beautiful place,” exclaimed Nell, taking the bread and meat handed to her.  “This is a lovely little glade.  Look at those golden flowers, the red and purple leaves, the brown shining moss, and those lichen-covered stones.  Why!  Some one has camped here.  See the little cave, the screens of plaited ferns, and the stone fireplace.”

“It seems to me this dark spring and those gracefully spreading branches are familiar,” said Jim.

“Beautiful Spring,” interposed Wingenund.

“Yes, I know this place,” cried Nell excitedly.  “I remember this glade though it was moonlight when I saw it.  Here Wetzel rescued me from Girty.”

“Nell, you’re right,” replied Jim.  “How strange we should run across this place again.”

Strange fate, indeed, which had brought them again to Beautiful Spring!  It was destined that the great scenes of their lives were to be enacted in this mossy glade.