They were Wyandot Indians, and Isaac Zane rode among them.  Freed from the terrible fate which had menaced him, and knowing that he was once more on his way to the Huron encampment, he had accepted his destiny and quarreled no more with fate.  He was thankful beyond all words for his rescue from the stake.

Coming to a clear, rapid stream, the warriors dismounted and rested while their horses drank thirstily of the cool water.  An Indian touched Isaac on the arm and silently pointed toward the huge maple tree under which Thundercloud and Myeerah were sitting.  Isaac turned his horse and rode the short distance intervening.  When he got near he saw that Myeerah stood with one arm over her pony’s neck.  She raised eyes that were weary and sad, which yet held a lofty and noble resolve.

“White Eagle, this stream leads straight to the Fort on the river,” she said briefly, almost coldly.  “Follow it, and when the sun reaches the top of yonder hill you will be with your people.  Go, you are free.”

She turned her face away.  Isaac’s head whirled in his amazement.  He could not believe his ears.  He looked closely at her and saw that though her face was calm her throat swelled, and the hand which lay over the neck of her pony clenched the bridle in a fierce grasp.  Isaac glanced at Thundercloud and the other Indians near by.  They sat unconcerned with the invariable unreadable expression.

“Myeerah, what do you mean?” asked Isaac.

“The words of Cornplanter cut deep into the heart of Myeerah,” she answered bitterly.  “They were true.  The Eagle does not care for Myeerah.  She shall no longer keep him in a cage.  He is free to fly away.”

“The Eagle does not want his freedom.  I love you, Myeerah.  You have saved me and I am yours.  If you will go home with me and marry me there as my people are married I will go back to the Wyandot village.”

Myeerah’s eyes softened with unutterable love.  With a quick cry she was in his arms.  After a few moments of forgetfulness Myeerah spoke to Thundercloud and waved her hand toward the west.  The chief swung himself over his horse, shouted a single command, and rode down the bank into the water.  His warriors followed him, wading their horses into the shallow creek, with never backward look.  When the last rider had disappeared in the willows the lovers turned their horses eastward.

CHAPTER X.

It was near the close of a day in early summer.  A small group of persons surrounded Col.  Zane where he sat on his doorstep.  From time to time he took the long Indian pipe from his mouth and blew great clouds of smoke over his head.  Major McColloch and Capt.  Boggs were there.  Silas Zane half reclined on the grass.  The Colonel’s wife stood in the door-way, and Betty sat on the lower step with her head leaning against her brother’s knee.  They all had grave faces.  Jonathan Zane had returned that day after an absence of three weeks, and was now answering the many questions with which he was plied.