A moment and I also saw something moving far below us among the trees.  As yet it was only a mere spot in the dim light of the trail, slowly ascending the height of land.  Nearer, nearer it came, until at length we could see that it was a man.  But no rifle slanted across his shoulder.

“He must be one of our own people,” I said, puzzled.  “Somebody sends us a messenger.  Is he white or Indian?”

“White,” said the Sagamore briefly, his eyes still riveted on the approaching figure, which now I could see was clothed in deerskin shirt and leggins.

“He carries neither pack nor rifle; only a knife and pouch.  He is a wood-running fool!” I said, disgusted.  “Why do they send us such a forest-running battman, when they have Oneidas at headquarters, and Coureurs-de-Bois to spare who understand their business?”

“I make nothing of him,” murmured the Mohican, his eyes fairly glittering with excitement and perplexity.

“Is he, perhaps, some fugitive from Butler’s rangers?” I whispered, utterly at a loss to account for such a silly spectacle.  “The pitiful idiot!  Did you ever gaze upon the like, Mayaro—­ unless he be some French mission priest.  Otherwise, yonder walks the greatest of God’s fools!”

“Then he is easily taken,” muttered Mayaro.  “Fix thy flint, Loskiel, and prime.  Here is a business I do not understand.”

Once the man halted and looked up at our ledge of rock, where the last sun rays still lingered, then lightly continued the ascent.  And I, turning to the Mohican for some possible explanation of this amazing sight, ere we crept out to closer ambush, found Mayaro staring through the trees with a glassy and singular expression which changed swiftly to astonishment, and then to utter blankness.

“Etho!” he exclaimed, bluntly, springing to his feet behind the nearer trees, regardless whether or not the stranger saw him.  “Go forward now, Loskiel.  This is a fool’s business—­ and badly begun.  Now, let a white man’s wisdom finish it.”

I, too, had risen in surprise, stepping backward also, in order that the trees might screen me.  And at the same moment the stranger rounded the jutting shoulder of our crag, and came suddenly face to face with me in midtrail.

“Euan!”

So astounded was I that my rifle fell clattering from my nerveless hand as she sprang forward and caught my shoulders with both her hands.  And I saw her grey eyes filling and her lips quivering with words she could not utter.

“Lois!” I repeated, as though stupefied.  “Lois!”

“Oh, Euan!  Euan!  I thought I would never, never come up with you!” she whimpered.  “I left the batteau where it touched at Towanda Creek, and hid in the woods and dressed me in the Oneida dress you gave me.  Then, by the first batt-man who passed, I sent a message to Lana saying that I was going back to—­ to join you.  Are you displeased?”

Her trembling hands clasped my shoulders tighter, and her face drew closer, so that her sweet, excited breath fell on my cheek.