As the warrior drew near Peleg looked at him with increasing astonishment. Dressed in the Indian garb, the warrior, who seemed to be only about twenty years of age, nevertheless had no features like those of the neighbouring tribes. Tanned, the stranger undoubtedly was, but nevertheless his skin did not have the bronze colouring of the Indian. His figure and even his walk were more like the white man's. And yet in every other point the stranger apparently was of the Indian race. As he drew near Peleg, his face was lighted by a smile as he said, "Me broder. Me white Shawnee." Peleg did not respond, although his astonishment was increased by the speech of the approaching warrior. "Me wan' go home. No fader. Me Shawnee fader. Me wan' white fader. White moder dead. White fader dead. No Shawnee fader some more." The puzzling statements were followed by some words unintelligible to Peleg, though he concluded that they were spoken in the Shawnee tongue. "Do you want to see Daniel Boone?" he inquired. Gesticulating forcefully, the young man inquired, "He me fader?" "No." "White fader dead. White moder dead. Shawnee warriors kill me fader. Kill moder. Many moons ago." "How many?" A puzzled expression for a moment appeared on the stranger's face, and then, comprehending the meaning of the question, he opened and closed his hands so many times that, although Peleg was unable to count the number of moons indicated, he concluded that the Shawnee was approximately of his own age. "Me live in Shawnee wigwam many moons. Me Shawnee. Me white Shawnee. Me have Shawnee fader and Shawnee broder," and he held up two fingers to indicate the number of his brothers. [Illustration: "One of the men who had been stationed as a guard was shot early in the morning"] "What are you doing here? What do you want?" demanded Peleg sharply. He was mystified by the statements which had been made and was fearful of some trap or treachery on the part of his visitor or his companions, who might even then be watching from the nearby forest. "Me fader, me broder, me go," the visitor replied, pointing to himself. "All go trap many beaver, many mink, many muskrat," he added, making a circle with his hand to indicate his inability to count the pelts which had been taken. "Me broder he wan' go on warpath. He wan' help drive palefaces out Kantuckee. Me fader he say he go," nodding his head many times to emphasize his statement. "But one night many owls scream and cry. He say then no go. Me broder he say go. Me fader say yes." "Where are they now?" The young stranger gazed earnestly into the face of his questioner, and at last, apparently comprehending his question, turned and waved his hand toward the forest to indicate that the men to whom he had referred were far away. "Why are you here? Why do you not go with them?" "Me wan' see white faces some more. Me wan' find white broder. Me white Shawnee, where go? Must see paleface wigwam."