"I don't know the Merriweathers; never heard of them," Wolf Cap said, looking up at last. "They are in great danger. There are women and children among them. I had a family once. We must not desert the little band that is trying to get behind Mad Anthony's bayonets. God forbid that Abner Stark should refuse to protect the helpless from the tomahawk." "And here is one who is with you!" cried Harvey Catlett. "Let us go now." "Yes. We must not see Wayne before we have offered help to the Merriweathers. Are we not near the tree?" "Nearer than you think. Look yonder." The speaker pointed to a tree whose great trunk was just discernible, and the twain hastened toward it. About six feet from the ground there was a hole large enough to admit a medium sized hand, and Wolf Cap was not long in plunging his own into its recesses. He withdrew it a moment later with a show of disappointment. "Nothin' from Wells and the same from Hummingbird," he said, turning to Catlett. "We are too soon, perhaps," was the answer. "They will be here, then. We may need their assistance. Hummingbird or Wells?" "The first that comes." "That will do. Write." The young scout drew a small piece of paper from his bullet pouch, and wrote thereon with a pointed stick of lead the following message: "_To the first here_: "We have gone down the Maumee to protect a white family flying to Wayne. Follow us. No news." The message was dropped in the forest letter box, and the disguised scouts set out upon their errand of mercy and protection. One behind the other, like the wily Indians whom they personated, they traversed the forest, now catching a glimpse of the starlit waters of the Maumee, and now wrapped in the gloom of impenetrable darkness. Not a word was spoken. Now and then an ear was placed upon the earth to detect the approach of an enemy should any be lurking near their path. With the woodman's practiced care they gave forth no sound for listening savages, and with eager hopes continued to press on. The tree, with its silent call for help, was soon left behind, and the scouts did not dream that the robber was near. Not long after their departure from the spot, a figure halted at the tree, and a dark hand dropped into the letter box. With almost devilish eagerness the fingers closed upon the paper that lay at the bottom of the hole, and drew it out. "A paper at last," said the man in triumphant tones. "I knew I would find it sometime." The next moment the thief hurried towards the river with the scouts' message clutched tightly in his hand. Wolf Cap and Harvey Catlett would have given much for that man's scalp, for at the time of which we write he was the dread of every woman and child in the Northwestern Territory. His name was James Girty, and his deeds excelled in cruelty his brother Simon's. CHAPTER III. THE TERRIBLE DISCOVERY.