The stranger, it was observed, said nothing at all, except, after a few minutes, to urge the matter upon our friends. It was now quite dark, but the shadowy form of the man on shore could be seen struggling along, and calling out in tones that were really heartrending. The men consulted together a while longer, and then it was determined to follow the suggestion of their friend. The long, guiding oars were dipped into the water, and with a loud plash swung a few feet, when the unwieldy flat-boat began slowly sliding in toward shore. It moved very tardily, however, and it was noticed that its progress down stream was continually growing less and less. This was accounted for by the fact that they were getting out of the current, and moving in shallow water. The man, all this time, was limping and gesticulating on shore, imploring them to hurry, as his life stood in imminent danger every moment, and the whites, to their credit be it spoken, worked with a good will. They had hardly commenced rowing, when Marian asked Peterson whether there was not another person upon the bank. "It is a female, and see how motionless she stands! She is just below that man." "Yes, I see her--she is waving her hands. Hark!" "Keep off! keep off! You will all be killed! This man is a decoy!" called out the person alluded to in a beseeching voice. "Who is she?" asked Marian, growing more excited every moment. "Ah! she's the Frontier Angel. Haven't you heard of her? When _she_ warns a white, he can depend on it she means what she says. This ain't the fust time she has done that thing." [Illustration: The Frontier Angel.] "O Jim!" implored Marian, "this is awful; tell them before it is too late. They cannot but heed you." The ranger hesitated a moment, as he remembered the cutting rebuff he had received; but the imploring voice of Marian, together with his own sense of duty, conquered. He turned his head and looked at the oarsmen. They had paused as the warning voice reached them. "What does that mean?" asked one. "That gal is the Frontier Angel that you've heard the boys talk about at the settlement. Ef any of you wants red night-caps, don't mind her; ef you doesn't, jest get back into the channel as soon as them oars will take you." "_I've_ heard that that gal you call the _Frontier Angel_ is nobody but a crazy squaw," said one of the oarsmen, still hesitating. "Go on, then," said Peterson, stung to the quick by this second repulse. "I shan't say no more," he added, in a lower tone, to Marian. "Didn't you know that gal is a crazy fool?" said the stranger, sneeringly. "Of course she is, and I thought you knowed it. Ef you're going to help that dyin' feller, you've got to be quick about it, 'cause the reds can't be far off."