“Follow me and take a peek at your friend, who was so cur’ous to see my back.” Waving the torch to keep it alive he strode to the edge of the growth. Knight followed, the rifle cocked. Swinging the torch down in a half circle the man invited, “Take a look. What d’ye see?” The two had torn the clothing almost from each other in their desperate fight. Kinsty, with his hunting-shirt ripped from hem to collar, was lying on his face. A red stripe extended the length of his spine. Straightening up the man continued: “Knew him the second I see him. But he didn’t know me. He’s one of Little Beaver’s white Injuns. He’s Greeby.” Knight nearly collapsed. “Greeby the renegade! Why did he ask about my folks, my home, so many questions about everything?” he cried. “So’s he could pass off for you where your folks was known and you wa’n’t. Now we’ll pick up a canoe I had hid along here somewheres and cross to t’other shore.” “He was taking me to Massie’s station tomorrow!” “He was taking your ha’r back to Little Beaver, leaving you dead where he cooked your supper. No more talk. Take his gun, powder horn ’n’ knife.” “Not the knife,” shuddered Knight. “Can you find your canoe in the dark?” “Why not? It ain’t run away. Come, hurry. This light may fetch a parcel of Injuns on our backs.” “Lord knows I’m grateful, Daniels--” “Boone. Dan’l Boone. Didn’t want to give my name to Greeby till I had a fair chance in a fight. Told him when we was scuffing on the ground. S’prized him so mightily I got home with the knife.” [Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the November 23, 1926 issue of Adventure magazine.]