The fatigue of the past two days' voyage, and the almost sleepless nights had told upon his constitution. He had struggled against the somnolent god, but in vain; and at last passed into slumberland unconsciously and overcome. And while he slept there was a noise in the water which was not made by a night rat. Something dark, like a great ball, was approaching the camp from the northern bank of the river, and the strong arms that propelled it gave the waves thousands of additional gleams. It came towards the camp with the rapidity of a good swimmer, and at length a huge figure emerged like a Newfoundland dog from the water. It was an Indian! For a moment he stood on the bank and panted like an animal, then a low bird-call dropped from his lips, and a second form came from the shadow of a fallen tree. The twain met at the edge of the water, and with signs of recognition. "Oskaloo cross the river," said the savage, in the Wyandot tongue. "White guide break him promise, and land on wrong side." "Couldn't help it," was the reply. "The old man is doing just what Wells has told him was best. I tried to run the boat over, and bless me if I don't pay 'im for his stubbornness yet." "How many?" asked the Indian. "Seven." "White girl along?" "Yes; but recollect what I have said about her." "Oskaloo never forget." "Is the White Whirlwind over there?" and the speaker glanced across the river. "No; him with Little Turtle, gettin' ready to fight the Blacksnake." "That is good. Now, Oskaloo, go back. To-morrow night at this time come when you hear the night hawk's cry." "All come?" "Yes, all; but meet me first." The savage nodded and turned towards the water, and the next moment plunged almost noiselessly beneath the waves. As he put off from the shore a hand dropped upon sleeping Abel Merriweather's arm, and roused him with a start. "Hist!" said a voice in a warning whisper. "Father, you have been asleep. We are going to be massacred. John Darknight, our guide, is a traitor." The settler was thoroughly awake before the last terrible sentence was completed, and he looked into the white face of his little son Carl, whom he thought was sleeping beside his mother in the boat. CHAPTER IV. LITTLE MOCCASIN IN THE CAMP. The settler was thoroughly aroused by his little son's startling communication, which appeared too terrible to be true. "A traitor, Carl?" he said. "Yes; an Indian who swam the river has been talking to him on the bank." "It cannot be," replied the incredulous parent. "He is sleeping----" He paused abruptly, for he made the discovery that but two forms were lying near the boat. The spot lately occupied by the guide was vacant. Then Abel Merriweather began to believe that Carl had not been mistaken. "Hist!" said the boy, breaking in upon his father's disturbing thoughts. "He is coming back." "To your place in the boat--quick! Do not let him see you here."