“Well, if you must go, good luck to you, and may we meet again.”

“It will not be long, I am sure.  And, old man,” he continued, with a bright smile, “when Myeerah and I come again to Ft.  Henry we expect to find all well with you.  Cheer up, and good-bye.”

All the preparations had been made for the departure of Isaac and Myeerah to their far-off Indian home.  They were to ride the Indian ponies on which they had arrived at the Fort.  Col.  Zane had given Isaac one of his pack horses.  This animal carried blankets, clothing, and food which insured comparative comfort in the long ride through the wilderness.

“We will follow the old trail until we reach the hickory swale,” Isaac was saying to the Colonel, “and then we will turn off and make for the river.  Once across the Ohio we can make the trip in two days.”

“I think you’ll make it all right,” said Col.  Zane.

“Even if I do meet Indians I shall have no fear, for I have a protector here,” answered Isaac as he led Myeerah’s pony to the step.

“Good-bye, Myeerah; he is yours, but do not forget he is dear to us,” said Betty, embracing and kissing the Indian girl.

“My sister does not know Myeerah.  The White Eagle will return.”

“Good-bye, Betts, don’t cry.  I shall come home again.  And when I do I hope I shall be in time to celebrate another event, this time with you as the heroine.  Good-bye.  Goodbye.”

The ponies cantered down the road.  At the bend Isaac and Myeerah turned and waved their hands until the foliage of the trees hid them from view.

“Well, these things happen naturally enough.  I suppose they must be.  But I should much have preferred Isaac staying here.  Hello!  What the deuce is that?  By Lord!  It’s Tige!”

The exclamation following Col.  Zane’s remarks had been called forth by Betty’s dog.  He came limping painfully up the road from the direction of the river.  When he saw Col.  Zane he whined and crawled to the Colonel’s feet.  The dog was wet and covered with burrs, and his beautiful glossy coat, which had been Betty’s pride, was dripping with blood.

“Silas, Jonathan, come here,” cried Col.  Zane.  “Here’s Tige, back without Wetzel, and the poor dog has been shot almost to pieces.  What does it mean?”

“Indians,” said Jonathan, coming out of the house with Silas, and Mrs. Zane and Betty, who had heard the Colonel’s call.

“He has come a long way.  Look at his feet.  They are torn and bruised,” continued Jonathan.  “And he has been near Wingenund’s camp.  You see that red clay on his paws.  There is no red clay that I know of round here, and there are miles of it this side of the Delaware camp.”

“What is the matter with Tige?” asked Betty.

“He is done for.  Shot through, poor fellow.  How did he ever reach home?” said Silas.

“Oh, I hope not!  Dear old Tige,” said Betty as she knelt and tenderly placed the head of the dog in her lap.  “Why, what is this?  I never put that there.  Eb, Jack, look here.  There is a string around his neck,” and Betty pointed excitedly to a thin cord which was almost concealed in the thick curly hair.