“Jackass!” roared George, rising out of his meekness like a lion roused from slumber.

“Didn’t you—­say so?” inquired Dave, weakly.

“No!  No!  No!  Idiot!”

As one possessed, George rushed out of the cabin, and a moment later stood disheveled and frantic before Kate.

“Did that fool say I didn’t love you?” he demanded.

Kate looked up, startled; but as an understanding of George’s wild aspect and wilder words dawned upon her, she resumed her usual calm demeanor.  Looking again to see if this passionate young man was indeed George, she turned her face as she said: 

“If you mean Mr. Edwards, yes; I believe he did say as much.  Indeed, from his manner, he seemed to have monopolized all the love near the Village of Peace.”

“But it’s not true.  I do love you.  I love you to distraction.  I have loved you ever since I first saw you.  I told Dave that.  Heckewelder knows it; even the Indians know it,” cried George, protesting vehemently against the disparaging allusion to his affections.  He did not realize he was making a most impassioned declaration of love.  When he was quite out of breath he sat down and wiped his moist brow.

A pink bloom tinged Kate’s cheeks, and her eyes glowed with a happy light; but George never saw these womanly evidences of pleasure.

“Of course I know you don’t care for me—–­”

“Did Mr. Edwards tell you so?” asked Kate, glancing up quickly.

“Why, yes, he has often said he thought that.  Indeed, he always seemed to regard himself as the fortunate object of your affections.  I always believed he was.”

“But it wasn’t true.”

“What?”

“It’s not true.”

“What’s not true?”

“Oh—­about my—­not caring.”

“Kate!” cried George, quite overcome with rapture.  He fell over two chairs getting to her; but he succeeded, and fell on his knees to kiss her hand.

“Foolish boy!  It has been you all the time,” whispered Kate, with her quiet smile.

* * *

“Look here, Downs; come to the door.  See there,” said Heckewelder to Jim.

Somewhat surprised at Heckewelder’s grave tone, Jim got up from the supper-table and looked out of the door.  He saw two tall Indians pacing to and fro under the maples.  It was still early twilight and light enough to see clearly.  One Indian was almost naked; the lithe, graceful symmetry of his dark figure standing out in sharp contrast to the gaunt, gaudily-costumed form of the other.

“Silvertip!  Girty!” exclaimed Jim, in a low voice.

“Girty I knew, of course; but I was not sure the other was the Shawnee who captured you and your brother,” replied Heckewelder, drawing Jim into another room.

“What do they mean by loitering around the village?  Inquired Jim, apprehensively.  Whenever he heard Girty’s name mentioned, or even thought of him, he remembered with a shudder the renegade’s allusion to the buzzards.  Jim never saw one of these carrion birds soaring overhead but his thoughts instantly reverted to the frontier ruffian and his horrible craving.