When Rudolph Runnion struck the military trail, leading around the western shore of Lake Erie to the Canadas, he quickened his gait, for it was his desire to get beyond the Maumee valley as soon as possible. He knew that the commander at Fort Miami had set a price upon his head, that a number of his comrades had doffed their scarlet for the Indians’ paint, that they might be the better able to crown their hunt for him with success. All this, and much more, had he learned from Wacomet, and, therefore, must avoid even his old comrades if he would escape the assassin’s doom--for an assassin he was, having killed Firman Campbell in cold blood, with little or no just provocation. After the discovery of his treachery, Effie relapsed into silence, though now and then she shot him a look of scorn which caused him to avert his eyes. At length, while the first beams of day were penetrating the wood, they reached a spot where the trail entered a ravine, through which it ran a short distance, and then emerged again in the forest, striking boldly toward the north. The major entered the ravine with no small degree of apprehension, for he was now upon especially dangerous ground. The banks of the ravine were not high, but were covered with a thick growth of underbrush, which now and then revealed a fissure large enough to contain several men. Before entering this place, and he could not avoid it, the Briton looked carefully to the priming of rifle and pistols, and loosened his knife and Wacomet’s tomahawk in his girdle. One-half of the journey through the ravine was accomplished before either uttered a word, when a cry suddenly broke from Effie’s lips: “Indians!” As the Briton turned his gaze to the point indicated, the clicking of rifles smote his ears, and he caught a glimpse of a plumed head before it was withdrawn, beyond the orifice of one of the fissures. Instinctively he looked about for a point of defense, and fortunately found himself at the mouth of one of the fissures, almost concealed by the surrounding underbrush. “Girl, spring into that hole; I’ll follow,” he said, without looking at Effie. “Once within that, we can whip all the Indians in the Maumee valley. I’m somewhat acquainted with the fissures in these rocks; each one is but the opening to an impregnable natural fort. Go, girl!” Almost before the last command had left his lips, Effie had darted through the brush, and an instant later the officer followed her. As he executed his movement, several rifles broke the silence; but the leaden pellets missed the form for which they were evidently intended, and flattened themselves against the brush-covered rocks. “Now for the battle, girl,” said the major, with gritted teeth, as he turned and beheld a plumed head in the fisure from which the shots had come.