"Never mind; gun come soon enough," was the Seneca's reply. A moment later the tree and concealed boat were left behind, and the trio hurried from the river. Oscar Parton walked beside the boy, never dreaming of escape, though his freedom had been restored, for his new brethren had promised to aid him in his search for Kate. He was thinking about his thrilling initiation, and wondering what would come of it. CHAPTER XIII. A LOVERS' MEETING. The reader will recollect that we left Harvey Catlett, the young scout, searching for John Darknight's trail on the banks of the Maumee. We will now return to him. For a long time the youth prosecuted his search with vigor, confident that he would soon be enabled to strike the trail and start in pursuit of the treacherous guide, whose hands had, he doubted not, taken Kate Merriweather from the camp. But the minutes passed without bringing him success, and he at last began to fear that the abductor had not landed at any point opposite the bivouac. With this idea gaining strength in his mind, he resolved to rejoin his companion and suggest new operations. But Oscar Parton did not respond to his oft-repeated signals, and the young scout sought him in turn until the gray streaks of light announced the dawn of another day. He did not hear the boat that drifted past him in the night, nor catch a sound of the struggle between the living and the dead which was taking place on board. He was inclined to charge Oscar Parton with desertion, attributing it to the young man's zeal for Kate's welfare, for whom he--Oscar--preferred perhaps to hunt alone. "Well, let him go!" Catlett said at last, standing on the shore with the daylight in his face. "If he does not like to trail with me, I am sure that I will not lift a hand against him. He might have been a stumbling block, any way, and on the whole I am not sorry that he has rid me of himself." Speaking thus--as the reader knows, unjustly--of Oscar Parton, the young scout started up the river. A few steps brought him to a rifle which lay on the ground. A glance told him that it belonged to the man whom he had just charged with desertion; but now he regretted his words. The discovery of the weapon told him that Parton was in trouble. His keen eyes, used to the woods and their trails, could not show him any signs of a struggle, for the tide had removed the stranding place of the canoe, and after a long and unsuccessful search, Catlett looked mystified. He looked at the rifle, but it told no story of its owner's mishaps; it lay in his hands dumb--provokingly so. "It beats me!" were the only audible words that escaped him, after a long silence of study and conjecture. Then he thrust the weapon into the hollow of a tree near by, and started into the forest.