The toast was drunk.  Then Clarke refilled his cup and holding it high over his head he looked at Betty.

“Gentlemen, to the maid-of-honor.  Miss Zane, your health, your happiness, in this good old wine.”

“I thank you,” murmured Betty with downcast eyes.  “I bid you all good-night.  Come, Myeerah.”

Once more alone with Betty, the Indian girl turned to her with eyes like twin stars.

“My sister has made me very happy,” whispered Myeerah in her soft, low voice.  “Myeerah’s heart is full.”

“I believe you are happy, for I know you love Isaac dearly.”

“Myeerah has always loved him.  She will love his sister.”

“And I will love you,” said Betty.  “I will love you because you have saved him.  Ah!  Myeerah, yours has been wonderful, wonderful love.”

“My sister is loved,” whispered Myeerah.  “Myeerah saw the look in the eyes of the great hunter.  It was the sad light of the moon on the water.  He loves you.  And the other looked at my sister with eyes like the blue of northern skies.  He, too, loves you.”

“Hush!” whispered Betty, trembling and hiding her face.  “Hush!  Myeerah, do not speak of him.”

CHAPTER XI.

He following afternoon the sun shone fair and warm; the sweet smell of the tan-bark pervaded the air and the birds sang their gladsome songs.  The scene before the grim battle-scarred old fort was not without its picturesqueness.  The low vine-covered cabins on the hill side looked more like picture houses than like real habitations of men; the mill with its burned-out roof—­a reminder of the Indians—­and its great wheel, now silent and still, might have been from its lonely and dilapidated appearance a hundred years old.

On a little knoll carpeted with velvety grass sat Isaac and his Indian bride.  He had selected this vantage point because it afforded a fine view of the green square where the races and the matches were to take place.  Admiring women stood around him and gazed at his wife.  They gossiped in whispers about her white skin, her little hands, her beauty.  The girls stared with wide open and wondering eyes.  The youngsters ran round and round the little group; they pushed each other over, and rolled in the long grass, and screamed with delight.

It was to be a gala occasion and every man, woman and child in the settlement had assembled on the green.  Col.  Zane and Sam were planting a post in the center of the square.  It was to be used in the shooting matches.  Capt.  Boggs and Major McColloch were arranging the contestants in order.  Jonathan Zane, Will Martin, Alfred Clarke—­all the young men were carefully charging and priming their rifles.  Betty was sitting on the black stallion which Col.  Zane had generously offered as first prize.  She was in the gayest of moods and had just coaxed Isaac to lift her on the tall horse, from which height she purposed watching the sports.  Wetzel alone did not seem infected by the spirit of gladsomeness which pervaded.  He stood apart leaning on his long rifle and taking no interest in the proceedings behind him.  He was absorbed in contemplating the forest on the opposite shore of the river.