Several times had Ande and Dick visited the old hunter's cabin in the Loop, and there was a growing friendship between the old trapper and the young men. They told him quite a little of their travels, but never mentioned the mines of Brazil. Once the hunter mentioned that he had been a soldier under Brock and had been a hunter ever since. New hope sprang up within the breast of Ande. If this old hunter had been in the service of Brock and had travelled the American wilds for such a time he must surely have met his father. At length the question found utterance. "You were in the service of Brock. Did you ever meet one of my name either in the army or afterwards. My father was in his service and possibly you may have met him." "One of your name,--thy father? No, no, Mr. Ande, I know naught. None of that name has ever met me." Ande, having received this reply, had not the temerity to push his inquiry further. He admired the old hunter for his kind disposition, and especially because he had seen service under Brock. He had frequently tried to get him to relate tales of battles and adventures, but the old man was of a taciturn nature, a quality born in him by his years of woodcraft. But his taciturnity did not hinder their intimacy or his friendship. He had given them rare treats in canoeing; night after night they had dropped down with the stream to the shelter of willows, and secure from observation had quietly awaited the coming of the deer to slake their thirst at the margin of the stream. On one occasion he had taken them with him through the Rough Water, shooting the rapids with consummate skill, and pointing out to them the marks of interest, such as Pilot Rock or Shawnee Rock, Driftwood, the Sluice and others. It was the evening just before the full moon when they made their last trip, still-hunting for deer. They had dropped down with the current, and had just secluded their craft beneath the willows when harsh, guttural, sometimes musical voices were heard on shore, at some distance. The old hunter placed a warning hand on the shoulder of Ande, and with the whisper of "Hist!" they listened. Bidding the young men be silent, and on no account to move from their position, the old trapper slipped up o'er the bank and in an instant was gone from sight. The same voices continued for the space of many minutes without interruption, and then, as cautiously as he had withdrawn, the hunter returned. With finger on his lip to indicate silence he cautiously dipped the paddle, and they moved silently up stream, skirting the willows in their journey. When beyond hearing distance he spoke in audible tones. "The Shawnese are in the land. They must have come up from the Ohio." "But they are peaceful, no doubt?" "Aye, they are peaceful; but I always mistrust them. The cruelties they heaped upon my father and the cruelties that I have witnessed at their hands have always made them hateful to me." "How do you know that they are Shawnese?" asked Dick.