What recked youth in love-time even if the fate of the Anglo-Saxon race in America were at stake! Ever thus does youth help shape the course of political evolution, help win a world without realizing the achievement, and only ask in the midst of astounding events that the heart of a simple maid be won. The dalliance of the young man’s thoughts blinded him, and his feet followed the rough path unguided by his eyes. Some premonition that she was near was what finally awakened him from his smiling reverie. He halted and threw back his head with a jerk. Tonpit’s commodious cabin stood in from the trail, surrounded by clumps of cedar and bass-wood. Within ten feet of the ranger stood Elsie. Jackson reddened with confusion. He knew he had been smiling as he came down the trail, and the restrained merriment tugging the corners of her mouth proclaimed her a witness to his deportment. He felt as sheepish as if she had detected him making faces at himself in a mirror. “Elsie, I’ve come all the way from the Ohio to win the privilege of calling you sweetheart,” he hurriedly greeted. She cast an apprehensive glance toward the house. “I like you, Kirk. You know how much,” she wistfully began. “My father—” “He seemed glad to see me,” he completed as she hesitated. And he gained her side and took her hands in his. “He is glad to see few men,” she warned. “He loves me, but to others he’s cold.” “Politics,” assured Jackson. “Big men always have political bees swarming through their heads. I wouldn’t give a beaver’s pelt for all the political power they can develop in this whole country. I’m a free man, and you’re a free maid, and your politician is a slave. And you must love me, dear.” “And I’m a free maid, and I must,” she quoted, drawing him out of range of the cabin. “Elsie, not another step till I know,” he whispered. “I asked myself every step from the falls of the Ohio, but now, you must—please!” “Then I must if I must,” she murmured, dancing ahead toward a natural arbour. “Wait!” he cried. “I bring a belt from the Ohio to the dearest little girl in the world. It shows a white road leading to a little cabin, which shall be the happiest home in all the col—I mean the States.” She seated herself on a log and he kneeled by her side. She remained silent, her eyes averted to hide her glorious confusion. “I’ve brought my talk,” he whispered. “What does the wonderful little woman say to it? Does she pick up the belt, the white wampum, the one road leading to the cabin?” “I like your talk,” she confessed. “Oh, I like it more than you can ever know, Kirk. But my father—he won’t let me pick your belt up.” “I’m not asking your father to marry me,” he reminded. “Don’t speak in that voice,” she whimpered, wilting against him. “Kirk, dear! I’m miserable. Ever since coming over the mountains I’ve sensed poison in the air.” He patted her hair and waited for her to continue.