"Oh! perhaps, then, it may be Boone and Kenton themselves," remarked Sandy, who had secretly always admired the forest ranger, Kenton, and aspired to follow in the footsteps of the daring young man, when he grew older. "Well, we shall soon know," Bob went on, "for Blue Jacket is heading straight in to that point where they have built their fire, as though he means to land on the lower side, where the current does not run so fiercely." Already they were in less turbulent waters, for, near the shore, the river did not attain anything like the swiftness that marked the middle of the stream. Under the skillful guidance of the sturdy young Shawanee brave, whose name, although not very well known just then, was fated later on to be on the lips of every settler who had built a cabin in the wilderness along the Ohio, the canoe presently came against the shore. Sandy, as usual, was the first to jump on to the bank; but he was careful to take his gun along with him. The Irish trapper quickly reached his side, and then came Bob, and the dusky Blue Jacket, who certainly could never be accused of being a talkative fellow, though capable of expressing himself freely on occasion. As if instinctively they allowed the young Shawanee to lead the way toward the burning campfire, because the presence of an Indian would seem to indicate that he might be better able to conduct the intercourse with the strangers; for already Bob and Sandy had discovered that the two white men were totally unknown to them. Besides, since it was Blue Jacket's canoe, he seemed to be conducting the expedition to the settlement, the others having just been taken on as he happened to come across them. But Bob Armstrong felt a new uneasiness creep over him when he heard the Irish trapper mutter something half under his breath, and caught the one significant word: "Traitor!" CHAPTER VI SIMON GIRTY, THE RENEGADE "WHO are they, Pat?" asked Bob, half under his breath, as he saw Blue Jacket gravely salute the other Indian, whom he knew to be a chief among the fierce Miamis, both by the feathers he wore in his scalplock, and by the trimmings on his buckskin hunting shirt and nether garments. "The Injun is Little Turtle, the greatest chief among the Miamis," replied the Irish trapper, also lowering his voice, for he saw the two white men frowning in his direction. Bob noticed that his old friend kept his long-barrelled rifle close under his arm, and his finger touching the trigger. "And the two others?" Bob went on. "I have never met either of them before, that I can remember; and yet I have seen most of the white men who roam the woods in this region of the Ohio."