The Indian took Slocum, and for hours he made him feel part of the pain he had caused him and his child--only a part, for you who are fathers can guess what that Indian and his daughter suffered. Was that Indian to blame? Did he do more to him than he deserved? Will you give the father over to Slocum’s soldiers to be abused and killed?” “A good yarn,” remarked an officer, “and a true one, for I lived at Albany then and saw the girl; pretty as a picture and simple as a baby. If Major Slocum had not got his hand in first, some other fellow would and she would have been made a fool of anyway.” “We will have nigger fathers running after us next,” sneered another officer. “Did you know Slocum?” asked Hemlock of the first who had spoken, with a quaver in his voice he could not control. “Guess I did. Slocum and Spooner were chums in those days, and by ----, I believe you are the father of the young squaw you make such a bother about. Won’t we hold him, General?” So saying he rose, as if waiting his assent to seize Hemlock. Before he could take a second step, Hemlock, with a quick motion, snatched his tomahawk, which he had concealed in his bosom, threw it, and leapt into the bush, where he was lost to sight in a moment. The officer, without uttering a word, fell on his back; the head of the tomahawk buried in his forehead. Stunned by the event, the officers lost a few minutes in giving the alarm. When search was made, it was in vain; Hemlock had not left a trace behind him. * * * * * The evening set in dismal and rainy, with a raw east wind that made the soldiers seek every available shelter. In the Forsyth household there was the alarm natural to the knowledge that the invaders were within a short distance, but the daily routine of duty was not interrupted and everything had gone on as usual. All had retired to rest except Maggie, who sat before the fire, building castles in the flickering flames and dying embers. While so engaged, the door, never fastened, opened softly, and Hemlock stepped in. Regardless of his sodden garments, he crouched beside the girl, without uttering a word. “Do you bring news of the coming of the enemy?” she whispered. “No: they are shivering in their tents.” “It is a cruel night to be out of doors.” The Indian nodded assent, and relapsed into silence. “Maggie,” he said suddenly, “I may have to leave Morton to your care.” “Dear me, Hemlock, what can I do?” “I have done everything,” he went on to say, “that I could. I gave him a chance to escape from his prison and today I offered Hampton to surrender the Indian they want in exchange for him and he refused. He will treat with the British General alone.” “That is surely easy, Hemlock. When the Yankees say they will give up Mr Morton for the Indian they blame for murdering their officer, our General will be glad to give up the Indian, provided he can be got.”