The outlaw had achieved another triumph; but the avenger of blood was on his trail, and on a day memorable in the history of Ohio he was to expiate the crime which we have already witnessed. CHAPTER XII. A THRILLING INITIATION. Oscar Parton did not resist when his captors drew him into their boat, which was paddled into the middle of the stream. He saw that resistance would prove futile, for his struggle with the dead warrior had wearied him. His captors were real red athletes, with great breadth of chest, and strong arms. They regarded him with much curiosity, and did not speak until the boat began to ascend the stream. "The Blacksnake's spy!" said one, half interrogatively, as he peered into the young man's face. His accent told Parton that he was a Shawnee. "I am not a spy," was the reply, "I have never trailed the Indian, with a rifle ready to take his life." The red men exchanged significant glances, and the youngest, a youth of eighteen, spoke: "Pale face is a Yengee."[C] [C] Yankee or American. "I am an American," Oscar said, knowing that an attempt to conceal his national identity would result in no good to him. "I have lived at the mouth of the Swift River,[D] lifting no arm against the Indian." [D] The Maumee. So called on account of its rapids. "But why is white man here?" asked the Shawnee. Then followed the narrative of the flight of the Merriweather family, and the story of Kate's abduction. The two Indians listened without interruption; but at certain stages of the narration they exchanged meaning looks. It was evident that they credited the story, for the young man told it in a plain, straightforward manner, embellishing it with no rhetoric. "White guide steal girl?" the young Indian--a Seneca--said, and the elder nodded his head in confirmation. "Him bad man. Decoys boats to the wrong side of river for the red man. Parquatoc no like him, for he makes war on women and children." For several moments the savages conversed together in whispers, and in the Indian tongue, of which the captive caught but few words which he understood. His fate appeared to be the subject of conversation, and he waited with much anxiety and impatience for the end of the council. Escape was not to be thought of, for his limbs were bound, and he would have sank beneath the waves like a stone if he had thrown himself from the boat. At last the dark heads separated, and the young settler looked into the Indian's eyes as if seeking the decision there before he should hear it from their tongues. But he was doomed to disappointment, for the red Arabs did not speak, though the one who had called himself Parquatoc guided the boat toward the shore. Oscar thought that the youth's eye had a kindly gleam, and tried to make himself believe that no murderous light was in the orbs of his companion.