Harvey Catlett was on the alert, and his ears at length caught a sound that roused him. It seemed the peculiar tread of the panther, dying away like the step of the beast, and recurring no more. It was in vain that he listened for a repetition of the sound. The very silence told him that he had permitted something important to escape investigation. "It may not be too late to follow yet," he said to himself. "I am a fool that I permitted----" The strange cry that the night hawk sends forth when frightened from its perch, fell startlingly upon his ears, and he severed his sentence. "That is my panther!" he said. "There is mischief afoot." We have said that he was near the river. The cry, or signal, as the young scout hastened to interpret the sound, seemed to emanate from a spot not forty feet away, and with the skill of the experienced trailer, he glided toward it. The cry was repeated, then there was a response which seemed to have crossed the river, and that in turn was answered from the very shore which the daring scout was noiselessly approaching. All at once he halted and hugged the dark ground, for the night caller was before him. It was not a hawk, nor was it the stealthy panther that greeted young Catlett's gaze; but the figure of an Indian! Ready to spring upon the redskin, the scout resolved to witness the result of the bird calls. He expected to see several boats cross the river for an attack upon the camp; but was doomed to disappointment. A sound to his left drew his attention in that direction. The Indian heard it, rose and started toward the river. At the edge of the water he was joined by a figure that carried a burthen. The scout could not distinguish it in the uncertain light. A few whispered words passed between the twain who had stepped into a boat, and Catlett was about to try the effect of a shot, when a startling shriek rose from the ravine. It was a woman's voice! The occupants of the boat heard it, and shoved the craft from shore. Out into the stream it shot like an arrow from a bow. Harvey Catlett sprang to his feet and fired at the disappearing boat. A wild cry followed the shot, and the sound was still echoing in the wood when Abel Merriweather reached his side. It did not need the settler's white face to tell the scout what had happened. Mrs. Merriweather's shriek had already told him. _Kate was gone!_ CHAPTER IX. THE ARMS OF THE DEAD. There was no disguising the fact that Kate Merriweather was missing. Harvey Catlett felt that the stealthy tread which had fallen upon his ears was that of her abductor, and he upbraided himself for what he self-accusingly termed his inactivity.