Where do you belong, and how did you get in her company. This is a mysterious mystery that I can’t unriddle. Hang me if I don’t believe that you are two witches. Oh no, my good man, we are not witches. I belong on board of the Reindeer. I am the Admiral’s daughter—the dare-devil of a girl you described. The one the marines were scouring the country to find. Yes, I am Cora Powers. Powers! exclaimed Amy excitedly, but said nothing more, yet thought much. The old man remained silent a few moments, then said: How came you in the canoe? I was carried there by some one. I thought it was Tom and Jack, supposing that the Lieutenant had told them to throw a blanket over me and carry me off. For that reason I made no resistance, and lay in his arms quietly as a babe on its mother’s breast. In fact, I enjoyed it, and when I lay in the boat, I thought that I would be taken on board of the Reindeer, and rather enjoyed it, to think how surprised they would be when they learned that I could not be scared. When I was doused in the water, I took it as a kind of a sailor baptism, and I don’t know yet what to make of it. I don’t think, said the old man, that your friends had anything to do with your departure. And if they didn’t, who did? asked Cora. The Indians, replied Amy. What? Do you mean that I was carried off in the arms of an Indian and laid in the canoe? I do, said Amy. I saw it with my own eyes. Cora was silent for a few moments, then said: Then I have been stolen by the Indians and didn’t know it. There is no romance about that, and I am the one who has been fooled. I have a good notion to faint. I would if there was some one here to prevent my falling. Young woman, this is no light affair. If they stole you they meant to take your scalp or make your friends pay well for your ransom. But what became of them? Are they prowling about now? Amy turned her face away to hide her confusion, but the old man noticed it. I think, he said, that this girl knows more about the Indians than she is willing to tell. Tell us, girl, where you last saw them. Amy remained silent, dreading to tell where she last saw them, knowing that it would lead to other questions. Speak, as you value your life, said the old man. The storm is over, and they will soon be down upon us. Amy replied: There were five of them, and they belonged to the Stockbridge tribe. Stockbridge Indians! exclaimed Shell. Then we must expect no mercy, but must prepare to defend ourselves, rising and seizing his gun that stood in the corner. This will stop one or more of them. Have you another gun? inquired Amy. If so, I will stop another. Here, said the old man opening a closet, is half a dozen guns, and I will load them all. Let me load them, said Amy. Do you know how? Amy took up the guns and loaded them in half the time the old man could. There. I have loaded them all, and if they come, I can shoot them. Are you the daughter of a hunter? asked old Shell.