A scowl of fury came over Marsden's pale face at my words, and he glanced about him. But he saw that I was prepared to meet him, so he arose to his feet. Raising my head, I saw that the canoe lay by a little neck of land, and that even now he was preparing to step ashore. "What doest thou?" I asked in surprise. "I promised DeNortier to return as soon as I delivered the message," he said; "for the Count needs help to protect Lady Margaret from Dunraven." And resisting all remonstrances, he plunged into the woods, bidding me go by water. "Dunraven might try to escape by the river, and 'tis best to surround him on all sides," he said, and seeing the wisdom of his words, I let him go and resumed my journey. All night long I paddled steadily, the canoe of Winona behind me, and by morning we were nearing the goal for which I had struggled so long. Four of the afternoon had arrived, and Winona called to me that just ahead there lay the broad white rock which marked the end of our journey. Yes, there to the left, jutting out into the water, was a broad flat rock, and above it hung a withered oak. "'Tis the rock," said Winona, and turning our canoes in that direction, we soon approached it. The girl caught the prow of my boat, and concealing both canoes in the high reeds that fringed the bank, with bow in hand she led the way along the little beaten path into the woods. So this was the beginning of the end I thought, as with my sword loosed in its scabbard, I followed the lithe figure of Winona. With eyes bent upon the path, and step as proud and free as a young fawn, she tripped in front of me. For some minutes she walked thus, and then with an exclamation she pointed to the trail; for here there was a great place trodden smooth, as though some monarch of the forest had locked horns with an enemy in the death struggle. The earth was torn and furrowed, and a great pool of blood, which looked as though it had been shed only a few minutes before, was in front of us. "What is it, Winona?" I asked. "Have some bucks locked horns here?" "No," she answered gravely, as she gazed at the ground; "it is the pale faces--see!" And she pointed to the earth, where bending I could dimly see the print of a shoe. "Let us go on, Winona!" I cried, alarmed at the sight, and I followed the trail of blood, where it led out again to the path. "See!" she cried, and she pointed to the stream of blood. "One of the pale ones was struck down, but he sprang up and followed his enemies," and brushing by me, she ran on down the path. For a few minutes we kept on after the bloody track, then turning from the path, we followed the blood into the woods down a little hillock and up under a great oak, where I could dimly see the figure of a man, as with upturned face he lay quiet and still. "The wounded man almost caught one of those who struck him!" she cried excitedly, pointing to a deep track, as where one had leaped in terror and then sprang forward in desperation.