“I know land is plentiful, but this is a cleared farm, with a good house on it. My grandfather was killed by the Indians, and this is his place which now belongs to my mother, to be had for the taking.” “Then come with us, and I will help you to your rights if it is to be done.” “But my father--if he should come back?” Joseph M’Clean laid his hand gently upon the child’s auburn hair. “Ye can scarce expect it, for we’ve searched for him and he’s not to be found.” Agnes choked back the sob that rose in her throat. “I know,” she said bravely, “but I am not going to give up hope. He may be lying wounded somewhere, and I am going to look for him myself. I feel sure I could find him if he is to be found.” “Ye’re a brave lass, Nancy,” said the man, his own eyes moist. “I’ll go with ye, lass. It’s a rough country we’re in, and ye are not to go alone. We’ll start another search for your father, for maybe, as you say, he’s wounded and can’t get here by himself.” Agnes looked up at him gratefully, for his was the first encouragement she had received that day. “It’ll be a rough tramp for ye, and maybe a dangerous one,” said Jimmy O’Neill the next day, as he saw Agnes ready to accompany the search party. “There’s Archie and Joe M’Clean besides mesel’, and we’ll not lave a stone unturned.” “But I must go,” Agnes returned wistfully. “If you should find him, I would know that much sooner by being with you. I’m not afraid, and I am a good walker. I’ve travelled many a mile a-foot when father and I were coming here.” Jimmy looked at Mr. M’Clean, who nodded as if in agreement, and said: “Weel, if ye grow weary, we can send you back with Archie, so we’ll let you go, lass, and may God direct us,” he added piously. Through the dim, deep forest they took their way, following such trails as they could find, and noticing the turn of a leaf, a broken twig, and those clews which only a woodsman would look for. The two men stalked on ahead, rifles on shoulder. Agnes and Archie followed, their moccasined feet treading the shining leaves pressed down by the footsteps of the Indian raiders. The summer was over and the settlers had thought themselves safe from Indian raids, but when the warm hazy weather which November so often brings had come upon them, it was a favorable time for the Indians to sally forth again, bent upon plunder. For this reason this late mild weather was called “Indian summer.” They followed the trail for some time, Agnes’s eyes alert as any to discover anything which might suggest a possibility of her father’s near presence. Suddenly she gave a quick exclamation. Sticking to a bramble by the side of the way was a bit of fur. The men came to an immediate halt at the sound of her voice. “See!” she cried. “It is a bit of some one’s coonskin cap.” She examined the edges as she plucked it from the thorny bush. “It has been shot away,” said Archie, as intent as she upon the clew.