Parquatoc sent the boat to the bank with strong, rapid strokes, and it finally struck with a dull thud that made the light craft quiver. Then he severed Oscar's leg bonds, and the settler stood erect on the shore, ten miles below the scene of his capture. His thoughts were of Harvey Catlett, whom he had left so unceremoniously, and who might think that he had deserted him to hunt alone for the stolen girl. He did not quail before the uncertain fate that stared him in the face; but resolved to meet it, dread as it might be, like a man. The boat was drawn upon the bank, and lifted into the boughs of a huge tree, which told that it was not to kiss the waves again that night. The Shawnee deposited it there while the young Seneca guarded the settler. But such vigilance was useless, for Oscar had resolved to attempt no escape that did not offer the best signs of success. Having deposited the boat in the tree so well that none but the keenest of eyes could have found it, the eldest savage gave his companion a look, and the next moment a knife flashed in his hand. Oscar thought that his doom was near at hand, for Parquatoc stepped forward, his scarlet fingers encircling the buckhorn handle of the keen blade. But though the youth's eyes flashed and his well-knit figure quivered, there was no gleam of murder in his eyes. The Shawnee looked on without a sign of interference. "The pale face has said that he does not hate the Indian!" the youth said. "Why should I? He has never done me harm." "But he kills the whites, and now the Blacksnakes come among his wigwams with rifle and torch." "True; but the Blacksnake, as you call our great soldier, would not be marching into this country if the bad whites had not stirred up the tribes by lies and rum." The young settler spoke with great boldness, looking straight into the eyes of the pair. "The pale face hates the king's men and the renegades?" "He does." There was a moment's silence. "Does he hate the White Whirlwind?" "He hates Jim Girty with all his heart!" The Shawnee nodded to Parquatoc with manifest satisfaction. "Then let the pale man bare his breast." For the first time since the landing, a pallor swept over Oscar Parton's face. If the savages were friends to the Girtys, and there were few Indians who would not have followed them to death, his replies had fated him to die, and the command to bare his breast seemed to settle the question of his life. He hesitated, but not through fear. "Is the white man afraid?" asked the boy-warrior with a sneer. "No!" was the quick reply, and the next instant the settler's hands were lifted to obey the command; but the deer thongs that bound them prevented him. Parquatoc smiled, and cut the bonds. Then Oscar tore his jacket open, and exposed his flesh to the Indian's gaze. "The white man hates the British and the white renegades. He must join our band."