"_Sacre!_ it is as you say; hard to believe as it is, she must be the same girl. Ha! I have an idea! It may explain the sound of the axes which we heard such long time on the trail now, as we come back once more to our old campground. See, there is the little boat she paddle down the river in. I begin to scent the truth now, Henri." "Then supposing you inform me as to the same, since I am groping in the dark," demanded the other Frenchman. "It may be that, if we but come closer to the old camp, we shall find it occupied by some of the hateful English settlers. I would not put it past them to descend the Ohio in a flatboat, till they come here. They have the nerve to face all the French along the Mississippi. And, Henri, among the rest is our old enemy, Armstrong. So you see now how the girl comes to be here." They stared at each other as though hardly able to believe the facts thus presented by the shrewd statement made by Jacques Larue. Meanwhile Kate had almost ceased her struggles, because she could only with difficulty breathe, having that broad palm thrust over her mouth, and gripped, as she was, in the strong arm of the trapper. Oh! how she wished that her brave brothers would only appear just then, and take these two ruffians to task for all they had done. How like savages they looked, in her eyes, with their brutal faces. And Henri Lacroix was not a bit careful as he held her, so that she might not scream, and thus give the alarm. What would they do with her? The very thought brought a cold chill to the poor girl. Once Kate had been taken prisoner by a young Indian chief belonging to the Iroquois nation, and carried far away to the country of the Great Lakes. Eventually she had been rescued by her two brothers, assisted by others, and brought back safely home. But she would never forget what she had suffered in mind during the time of her captivity. And yet she really feared these two rough men more than she had the Indians. As she looked into their snapping black eyes, she seemed to see lurking there passions that would stop at nothing, even murder, in order to carry out any mad scheme to which they had turned their attention. Even the girl could realize how Henri Lacroix longed to avenge the death of his brother, Armand, at the hands of Simon Kenton, the friend of the Armstrong family. If she could only manage to give one loud cry, surely some one would hear; and at any rate these cowardly French trappers, becoming alarmed for their safety, would drop her, and take to their heels, fearing lest the settlers shoot them down like wolves. But Henri Lacroix evidently did not mean to give her the slightest chance to make any outcry, judging from the way in which he kept his hand over her mouth. "This is no place for us, Jacques," he was saying now, nodding his head in the direction whence came the steady plod of the axes.