This information was given by Kent Whiteman, the person for whom he was searching. This personage was a strange character, some forty years of age, who led a wandering hunter's life, and was known by every white man for a great distance along the Ohio. Roland Leslie had made his acquaintance when but a mere lad, and they often spent weeks together hunting and roaming through the great wilderness, which was the home of both. He cherished an implacable hatred to every red-man, and they in turn often sought his life, for they had no enemy so dangerous as he. "Yes, sir, them varmints," said he, as he leaned upon his long rifle and gazed at Leslie, "are playing particular devil in these parts, and I calkelate it's a game that two can play at." [Illustration: "Them varmints," said he, "are playing particular devil in these parts."] "Jump in the boat, Kent," said Leslie, "and ride down with me; I promised George Leland that if he needed assistance I would bring it to him." "He needs it, that's a p'inted fact, and as soon as it can conveniently reach him too." "Well, let us be off." Leslie dipped his oars in the water and pulled out into the stream. It was the morning after the burning of the Lelands' home, which of course was unknown to them. For a few moments the boat glided rapidly down the stream, when Whiteman spoke: "Where'd you put up last night, Leslie?" "About ten miles down the river. I ran in under the bank and had an undisturbed night's rest?" "Didn't hear nothin' of the red-skins?" "No." "Wal, it's a wonder; they're as thick as flies in August, and I calkelate I'll have rich times with 'em." "I cannot understand how it is, Kent, that you cherish such a deadly hatred for these Indians." "I have good reason," returned the hunter, compressing his lips. "How long is it that you have felt thus?" "Ever since I's a boy. Ever since _that_ time." "What time, Kent?" "I have never told you, I believe, why the sight of a red-skin throws me into such a fit, have I?" "No; I should certainly be glad to hear." "Wal, it doesn't take long to tell. Yet how few persons know it except myself. It is nigh thirty years ago," commenced Kent, "that I lived about a dozen miles above the place that we left this morning. There I was born and lived with my old father and mother until I was ten or eleven years old. "One dark, stormy night we war attacked by them red devils, and that father and mother were butchered before my eyes. During the confusion of the attack, I escaped to the woods and secreted m'self until it was over. It was a hard matter to lie there, scorched by the flames of your own home, and see your parents, while begging for mercy, tomahawked and slain before your eyes. But in such a position I was placed, and remained until the savages, satisfied with their bloody work, took their departure.