"An' ye trusted to a true man. Wi' all my back-slidin's I've been, true to you, Dick. The boy knows nothin' 'beout what you're been, nor me neyther. He air as innocent as my own gurl Lena, tho' of a diffrent natur altogither. Tho' he be three parts white, he's got the Injun in him as much as ef he'd been the colour o' copper. Le's see; it air now nigh on six year gone since ye seed him. Wal, he's wonderful growed up an' good-lookin'; and thar arn't anythin' 'beout these parts kud tackle on to him fur strenth. He kin back a squirrel wi' the pea-rifle, tho' thet won't count for much now ef ye're gwine to set him gatherin' these hyar donicks an' dusts. Arter all, thet may be the best for him. Huntin' ain't no account any more. I'd gi'e it up myself ef I ked get some eezier way o' keepin' my wants serplied." The man to whom these remarks were made did not give much attention to the last of them. A proud fire was in his eye as he listened to the eulogy passed upon the youth, who was his son by Marie Robideau, the half-breed daughter of a famous fur-trader. Perhaps, too, he was thinking of the youth's mother, long since dead. "He will soon be here?" he inquired, rousing himself from his reverie. "Oughter," was the reply. "Only went wi' my gurl to the store to git some fixin's. It air in Helena, 'beout three mile by the old trace. Oughter be back by this. I war expectin' 'em afore you kim in." "What's that?" asked Tarleton, as a huge bear-hound sprang from his recumbent position on the hearth, and ran growling to the door. "Them, I reck'n. But it moutn't be; thar's plenty o' other people abeout. Make safe, Dick, an' go in thar', into the gurl's room, till I rickaneitre." The guest was about to act upon the hint, when a light footstep outside, followed by the friendly whimpering of the hound, and the soft voice of her on whom the dog was fawning, caused him to keep his place. In another second, like a bright sunbeam, a young girl--Lena Rook-- stepped softly over the threshold. STORY ONE, CHAPTER SIX. A CRY OF DISTRESS. Lena Rook knew the father of Pierre, and curtsied as she came in. It was six years since she had seen him; but she still remembered the man who had stayed some days at her father's house, and left behind him a boy, who had afterwards proved such a pleasant playmate. "Whar's Pierre?" asked her father. "Didn't he kum back from Helena along wi' ye?" The guest simultaneously asked a similar question, for both had noticed a slight shadow on the countenance of the girl. "He did," answered she, "as far as the clearing in the cane-brake, just over the creek." "He stopped thar. What for?" "There was a party of hunters--boys." "Who mout they be?" "There was Alf Brandon, and Bill Buck, and young Master Randall, the judge's son, and there was Jeff Grubbs, the son of Mr Grubbs, that keeps the store, and Slaughter's son, and another boy I don't remember ever seeing before."