Barnabas Otter was a product of the early days of Pennsylvania colonization. One of the first settlers in the Wyoming Valley, his bravery and sterling qualities had there gained for him the honest liking of his neighbors. He was now nearly sixty years old, lean and rugged, with a physique like iron and limbs that never tired. He was a master of woodcraft, as many a wary Indian had learned, and his aim rarely missed. With the fearlessness of a lion and the stealth of a panther, he combined the vision of a hawk and the hearing of a deer. Altogether, he was such a friend as Nathan might well count worth having. Many of the Wyoming men were weak and exhausted, and though the march was kept up at a fairly good speed, it was not fast enough to suit Barnabas. So, at noon of the third day, July 1st, when the party had halted for a brief rest in the lonely country, miles to the northwest of Trenton, the old woodsman suggested that himself and half a dozen others--naming those most capable of speed and endurance--should push on in advance of the main band. He urged as a reason the necessity for letting their imperiled friends know that aid was on the way, so that they might hold out with better spirit. The possession of Captain Stanbury's papers was purely a minor reason with Barnabas, as he frankly admitted to Nathan. "The first object of the journey is to save the settlements, lad," he said; "but of course we'll dig up these papers as soon as we git a chance." The officers commanding the troops promptly recognized the wisdom of the suggested course. Barnabas chose Nathan--whose wind and strength well fitted him for the purpose--and five brave and hardy men of his own company. They started at once, taking plenty of ammunition and supplies for three days, and were a mile on their way when the main body which they left behind, began the afternoon's march. The region stretching northwest to the Susquehanna at Wilkesbarre was wild and lonely, but Barnabas knew every foot of the way. He avoided the circuitous bridle-road, and led the party by narrow and direct trails of his own choosing--over rugged and dismal mountain passes, through forests where deer and bear, turkeys and pheasants abounded, and across streams that teemed with fish. By the aid of an early moon they traveled until ten o'clock that night, and after sleeping soundly in the woods, and without camp-fires, they resumed their march at daybreak. About the middle of the morning, coming to an open glade by a spring, they made a startling discovery. Here a party of horsemen had plainly spent the previous night. The ground was trodden by hoofs and footmarks. The ashes of two fires were still warm, and close by were heaps of pine-boughs that had served for bedding. "Who can they have been?" asked Nathan.