Leaving the characters of our story already mentioned for a brief time, let us turn our attention to the devoted little band of fugitives who were flying through the gauntlet of death to Wayne's protecting guns. While Harvey Catlett was conversing with Little Moccasin, watched with a jealous eye by the tall scout, a large but light boat was nearing the foot of the famous Maumee rapids. It kept in the center of the stream, as if its occupants believed that danger lurked along the shadowed banks, and consultation was carried on in whispers. The boat thus slowly ascending the stream contained eight persons. Four were men, strong, active and with determined visages; the others consisted of a matron, a girl of eighteen, and two children whose ages were respectively twelve and fourteen. Abel Merriweather, the matron's husband and the father of the interesting ones grouped about her, was the oldest person in the craft; his male companions were George Darling, his nephew, an Englishman called John Darknight, and a young American named Oscar Parton. To Darknight the navigation of the Maumee was well known, as he had spent much time upon its bosom, and he was serving the Merriweathers in the capacity of guide. Abel Merriweather, a little headstrong and fearful, had overruled the counsel of true friends. He believed that his family was in danger while the roof of the cabin near the mouth of the Maumee sheltered it. The muttered growls of war made him timorous, and he saw no safety anywhere save behind the bayonets of Wayne. Therefore, in company with his nephew and Oscar Parton, who was his daughter Kate's acknowledged suitor, and with John Darknight for a guide, he had embarked upon the perilous attempt of reaching Fort Defiance with his loved ones. "Of course we cannot stem the rapids," the guide said in response to a question from young Darling. "Our portage must now begin." As he spoke the boat began to approach the left bank of the stream. "We are nearing the wrong bank," said Parton. "Of course we are," the settler replied, noticing the boat's course, and he turned upon the guide: "What does this mean?" he demanded, with his usual brusqueness. "Nothing dangerous, sir. You see that we can best journey up the left bank of the river. The Indians are massing in the south." "But I have been advised by the scouts of Mad Anthony to go up the right bank." "You have?" "Yes, sir. If I understand you, you have not been in these parts for a month, while my informants and advisers were here but a week since." The guide did not reply for a minute, during which the boat continued toward the dusky shore, for his hand was upon the rudder. "Pardon me, John," the settler said; "but I feel constrained to listen to the scouts, one of whom was William Wells himself." "Wells, eh?" said Darknight, with a sneer. "Between you and I, Merriweather, I would not trust that Injun-bred fellow farther than the length of my nose."