“Nonsense.  He asked her long ago.  Never fear, Bess, my sister will come back as meek as a lamb.”

Meanwhile Betty and Alfred were strolling down the familiar path toward the river.  The October air was fresh with a suspicion of frost.  The clear notes of a hunter’s horn came floating down from the hills.  A flock of wild geese had alighted on the marshy ground at the end of the island where they kept up a continual honk! honk!  The brown hills, the red forest, and the yellow fields were now at the height of their autumnal beauty.  Soon the November north wind would thrash the trees bare, and bow the proud heads of the daisies and the goldenrod; but just now they flashed in the sun, and swayed back and forth in all their glory.

“I see you limp.  Are you not entirely well?” Betty was saying.

“Oh, I am getting along famously, thank you,” said Alfred.  “This one foot was quite severely burned and is still tender.”

“You have had your share of injuries.  I heard my brother say you had been wounded three times within a year.”

“Four times.”

“Jonathan told of the axe wound; then the wound Miller gave you, and finally the burns.  These make three, do they not?”

“Yes, but you see, all three could not be compared to the one you forgot to mention.”

“Let us hurry past here,” said Betty, hastening to change the subject.  “This is where you had the dreadful fight with Miller.”

“As Miller did go to meet Girty, and as he did not return to the Fort with the renegade, we must believe he is dead.  Of course, we do not know this to be actually a fact.  But something makes me think so.  Jonathan and Wetzel have not said anything; I can’t get any satisfaction on that score from either; but I am sure neither of them would rest until Miller was dead.”

“I think you are right.  But we may never know.  All I can tell you is that Wetzel and Jack trailed Miller to the river, and then they both came back.  I was the last to see Lewis that night before he left on Miller’s trail.  It isn’t likely I shall forget what Lewis said and how he looked.  Miller was a wicked man; yes, a traitor.”

“He was a bad man, and he nearly succeeded in every one of his plans.  I have not the slightest doubt that had he refrained from taking part in the shooting match he would have succeeded in abducting you, in killing me, and in leading Girty here long before he was expected.”

“There are many things that may never be explained, but one thing Miller did always mystify us.  How did he succeed in binding Tige?”

“To my way of thinking that was not so difficult as climbing into my room and almost killing me, or stealing the powder from Capt.  Boggs’ room.”

“The last, at least, gave me a chance to help,” said Betty, with a touch of her odd roguishness.

“That was the grandest thing a woman ever did,” said Alfred, in a low tone.