"There were plenty of them with the Senecas and Oneidas yesterday, and they fought like wild cats, too. But why don't you bring your folks forward?" added Zitner, looking inquiringly around. "I will do so. Wait a few minutes." He strode back and over the top of the ridge, until he caught sight of the frightened group. "Come on!" he called, beckoning to them. "Mr. Zitner and Burwink are here, and want to see you." With an expression of thankfulness, Mrs. Ripley, clasping a hand of each of the children, walked up the slope, and passed over to where the couple awaited their approach by the camp fire. She shook hands with each, and expressed her pleasure at meeting them. They did the same toward her, and then all, with the exception of the children, seated themselves on the fallen tree beside which the small fire was burning. Mrs. Ripley had observed the little incident the preceding afternoon, when Zitner tried to stop Linna. She was ill at ease, for she noticed how sharply he looked at the child. She hoped, however, that now he was fully himself, he would be ashamed of his action, or at least make no reference to it. No fear of her doing so. She showed her tact by leading the conversation in another direction. "When did you leave Wyoming?" "Burwink and I didn't get a chance to swim over until nearly midnight, and then we had a rough time of it. There were plenty of others that tried to do the same and never got to this side." "When did you leave?" asked Burwink of the lady. "We crossed before it was dark." "How did you manage it? Swim?" "No; we came over in a canoe. A Delaware Indian, the father of Linna, swam behind the boat and pushed it across. But for him, we never could have gotten away." Mrs. Ripley, like her son, meant to keep the name of their friend from these men. There was no danger of either her or Ben telling it; but neither thought of another means they had of learning it. At this point, Alice went to her mother and leaned against her knees, with her gaze on the faces of the men. She had been standing beside Linna, whose eyes were never once removed from the displeasing countenance of Zitner. She must have noticed the incident referred to, for the expression on her round face was of dislike and distrust. She stood further off from the men than anyone else--silent, watchful, and suspicious. Zitner now looked at her. "Come here," he said coaxingly, extending his hand. "No; me won't. Me don't like you," she replied, with an angry flirt and backward step. "Jingo!" exclaimed the surprised Zitner; "I didn't think she could talk our lingo. Say, Miss Spitfire, what is your father's name?" Before either Mrs. Ripley or her son could interpose, Linna answered defiantly--"He Omas--great warrior--kill good many white people--kill you!"