I understood now what had happened. Nevertheless, knowing not just the best thing to say, I asked her what was the matter. "Oh," she cried, covering her eyes, "I killed him. He threw up his hands, and groaned, and fell like a log. How could I do it? How could I do it?" I tried to assure her that she had done well; but finding that she would pay me no heed, I went to look at her victim. I turned him over, and muttered a thanksgiving to Heaven as I recognized him for one of the worst of the Black Abbe's flock. I found his tracks all about the canoe. Then I went back to Mizpah. "Good soldier! Good comrade!" said I, earnestly. "You have killed Little Fox, the blackest and cruelest rogue on the whole Shubenacadie. Oh, I tell you you have done a good deed this day!" The knowledge of this appeared to ease her somewhat, and in a few moments I gathered the details. The Indian had come suddenly to the bank, and seeing a canoe there had examined it curiously,--she, the while, waiting in great fear, for she had at once recognized him as one of her former captors, and one of whom she stood in special dread. While looking at our things in the canoe, he had appeared all at once to understand. He had picked up my coat, and examined it carefully,--and the grin that disclosed his long teeth disclosed also that he recognized it. Looking to the priming of his musket, he started cautiously up the bank upon my trail. "As soon as he left the canoe," said Mizpah, still shaken with sobs, "I knew that something must be done. If he went away, it would be just to give the alarm, and then we could not escape, and Philip would be lost forever. But I saw that, instead of going away, he was going to track you and shoot you down. I didn't know what to do, or how I could ever shoot a man in cold blood,--but something _made_ me do it. Just as he reached the end of the log, I seemed to see him already shooting you, away in the woods over there,--and then I fired. And oh, oh, oh, I shall never forget how he groaned and fell over!" And she stared at her right hand. "Comrade," said I, "I owe my life to you. He _would_ have shot me down; for, as I think of it, I went carelessly, and seldom looked behind when I got into the woods. To be so incautious is not my way, believe me. I know not how it was, unless I so trusted the comrade whom I had left behind to guard my trail. And now, here are news! They have brought the child this way, up this very river! The saints have surely led us thus far, for we are hot upon their track!" And this made her forget to weep for the excellence of her shooting. Chapter XV Grul's Hour