They brewed tea to wet their buttered biscuit and jerked venison.

Solomon looked as if he were sighting on a gun barrel when he said: 

“Now ye see what’s the matter with this ’ere Injun business.  They’re jest a lot o’ childern scattered all over the bush an’ they don’t have to look fer deviltry.  Deviltry is lookin’ fer them an’ when they git together thar’s trouble.”

Solomon stopped, now and then, to peer off into the bush as he talked while the dusk was falling.  Suddenly he put his finger to his lips.  His keen eyes had detected a movement in the shadowy trail.

“Hide an’ horns o’ the devil!” he exclaimed in a low tone.  “This ’ere may be suthin’ neevarious.  Shove ol’ Marier this way an’ grab yer pistols an’ set still.”

He crept on his hands and knees with the strap of his rifle in his teeth to the edge of the bush, where he sat for a moment looking and listening.  Suddenly Solomon arose and went back in the trail, indicating with a movement of his hand that the boy was not to follow.  About fifteen rods from their camp-fire he found an Indian maiden sitting on the ground with bowed head.  A low moan came from her lips.  Her skin was of a light copper color.  There was a wreath of wild flowers in her hair.

“My purty maid, are your people near?” Solomon asked in the Mohawk tongue.

She looked up at him, her beautiful dark eyes full of tears, and sorrowfully shook her head.

“My father was a great white chief,” she said.  “Always a little bird tells me to love the white man.  The beautiful young pale face on a red horse took my heart with him.  I go, too.”

“You must go back to your people,” said Solomon.

Again she shook her head, and, pointing up the trail, whispered: 

“They will burn the Little White Birch.  No more will I go in the trail of the red man.  It is like climbing a thorn tree.”

He touched her brow tenderly and she seized his hand and held it against her cheek.

“I follow the beautiful pale face,” she whispered.

Solomon observed that her lips were shapely and her teeth white.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“They call me the Little White Birch.”

Solomon told her to sit still and that he would bring food to her.

“It’s jest only a little squaw,” he said to Jack when he returned to the camp-fire.  “Follered us from that ’ere Injun village.  I guess she were skeered o’ them drunken braves.  I’m goin’ to take some meat an’ bread an’ tea to her.  No, you better stay here.  She’s as skeery as a wild deer.”

After Solomon had given her food he made her take his coat for a blanket and left her alone.

Next morning she was still there.  Solomon gave her food again and when they resumed their journey they saw her following.

“She’ll go to the end o’ the road, I guess,” said Solomon.  “I’ll tell ye what we’ll do.  We’ll leave her at Mr. Wheelock’s School.”