each.  When they at last left for their wilderness homes, they were saluted by the cannon of Fort Howe and His Majesty’s ship Albany, and they in return had given three huzzas and an Indian war-whoop.  Such attention and good will had made a deep impression upon those who had attended the peace-parley.  After that they were ever ready to fight against King George’s enemies, and they did all in their power to convert the Indians who still remained rebellious.

The story Sam now told the newly-arrived warriors about the capture of the girl by the two rebel Indians aroused their wrath, and they determined to punish the cowardly Micmacs as soon as possible.  As for the slashers, they hoped to settle with them at once, which would prove a warning to others.  Occasionally they glanced at Jean as she sat watching them.  They knew her history now, and they admired her, for Sam had told them of her courage on the trail, and of her bright, cheerful disposition.  They were much interested, too, in the little arrow at her throat, and when Jean handed it to them, they examined it intently, and talked to one another in quite an excited manner.

Not for long, however, could the Indians remain at the lodge.  There was stern work ahead of them this night, and Sam was becoming uneasy.  When he at length rose to his feet and picked up his gun, the visitors did likewise.  They examined the priming of their weapons, the bullets in their pouches, and the quantity of powder in their powder-horns.  Finding everything to their satisfaction, they were about to leave the lodge, when Jean sprang to her feet and laid a hand upon Sam’s arm.

“Don’t kill the white men,” she pleaded.  “Drive them away, but, please don’t kill them.”

Sam turned and looked at her in silence for a few seconds.  His eyes were filled with an expression of admiration for this fair girl.  He was willing to do anything for her, but he knew that she did not understand the importance of the mission upon which he and the other warriors were bent.

“You won’t kill them, will you?” she asked, noting his silence.

“Slashers bad,” Sam replied.  “Slashers hurt babby.”

“I know they would if they got the chance.  But can’t you drive them away without killing them?  Oh, it would be terrible if you should shoot them!  You killed one man, and isn’t that enough?”

Sam was in a quandry.  He longed for the blood of the slashers whom he hated.  This was a great chance to wipe them out of existence.  Never before had he had such a just cause against them, and why should he not make the most of it?  But it was hard for him to resist the request of the white girl.  He turned to the other Indians, and spoke to them in quick, short syllables.  They replied, but what they said Jean did not know.  She could only hope.

“No kill slashers, eh?” Sam queried, turning to the girl.

“Please don’t.  Drive them away; frighten them, but do not kill them.”