Blue Jacket wanted not their thanks. He had no love for the white men, who were coming to drive his race away from the lands where they had lived for many generations, carrying on their wars with neighboring tribes, hunting the buffalo and the deer, and worshipping the Great Manitou after the fashion of the red men. He sat by himself, moody and silent. Perhaps he was thinking how sorry he would be to part forever from the two paleface lads whom he had grown to care for so much in this year he had known them. And then there was the kind, motherly woman who had helped nurse him back to life long ago, when he suffered from a severe bullet wound, received in a battle with the whites, and which would have caused his death had he not been found by Sandy, and taken into the care of the Armstrongs. Then again, it might be that the young Shawanee brave was feeling the bitterness of his situation, placed as he was in a position where, for the time, he felt compelled by gratitude to warn these palefaces against the coming of his own people. Perhaps it was well that no shot had been fired from the flatboat; had a single Indian been killed as a result of his warning, Blue Jacket would have cause for feeling more moody than was now the case. The boys must have guessed something of his feelings, for they did not attempt to break in upon his solitude, as he sat with bowed head. For several hours the voyage down the river was continued by moonlight; and then Mr. Armstrong gave orders that they head in toward the shore, and put out the anchor that had been brought along for the purpose. A strict watch was kept until dawn; then Blue Jacket, going on shore, soon signalled that there was no longer any danger; accordingly the boat was pushed in, and, some of them landing, started a fire, at which the breakfast of fresh fish was cooked. So the waters and the woods were all made to pay tribute to the demands of the sturdy early settlers. The rivers were teeming with fish, and the forests contained innumerable deer, buffalo, and much smaller game, so that it was easy as a rule to supply the table, if a hunter dared venture abroad. Fear of an Indian surprise was the only thing that deterred them. There was ever this dread possibility hovering over their heads in the disputed land. When the meal was over, Blue Jacket, with the same grave face that always marked his character, came up, and held out his hand to Mrs. Armstrong. "Good-bye!" he said simply, with not a muscle quivering, such was the splendid control he had over his feelings. To Bob and Sandy he also gave his hand, and looked at them long and earnestly, but said only that same one word: "Good-bye!" Then he turned and strode away, never giving any of the others so much as a single look, for they were nothing to the young Shawanee warrior, and, if ever he met any of them again, it would probably be with weapons in his hands, and hatred for the mortal enemies of his race in his Indian heart.