“Mr. Larkin,” Douglas remarked calmly, “I’m very sorry this occurred. You’d better take your comrade to the house and dress his wounds. I’m off.” Followed by his two friends and his dog, the young man silently made his way back to the canoe. A few minutes later they were rapidly paddling down the stream. The day was excessively hot. The three men maintained a moody silence, as with steady, sweeping strokes they shot the dugout forward. The sweat trickled in rivulets down Farley’s furrowed face. Presently he muttered in an undertone: “S’pect I’d ’ave done better, if I’d shot that cuss of a Hilliard—yes, an’ ol’ Sam Larkin, too. They deserved to die anyway—the dirty cowards! An’ they’ll make no end o’ bother fer Ross—’r I’m badly mistaken. An’ they’ll torment that little gal to death, purty near. I can see it all. Ther’s trouble ahead fer somebody—an’ likely it’s fer Ross Douglas. Well, it all comes o’ fallin’ in love with a few pounds o’ the female gender. An’ hain’t I had the ’xperience? Lordy! I should say so!” [Illustration] CHAPTER II. A wagon-and-pack-train was slowly winding its way through the trackless wilds of the valley of the Wabash. Like some monstrous serpent, it dragged its sinuous body along the margin of the boundless prairie that stretched away to the north and west, and wormed itself in and out among the clumps of scrubby trees that marked the course of the stream. Ahead of it rode a compact body of mounted men; and on both sides and behind, marched a straggling mass of soldiers. The wheels of the heavily laden vehicles half buried themselves in the soft loam of the valley. “Squeak! Creak!” were the tortured cries of the wooden axles. Whips cracked and drivers swore; horses neighed and oxen bellowed. William Henry Harrison, governor of Indiana Territory, was on his way to the Prophet’s Town, to make peace or war with its inhabitants. It was the fifth of November, 1811; and the sunless day was drawing to a close. The wind, biting and keen, swept across the prairie from the northwest, bringing with it driving clouds of mist-like rain and stinging snow-pellets. The officers and mounted men buttoned their coats closely about them and, dropping their chins upon their breasts, rode forward in silence. The weary soldiers laboriously trudged onward—and grumbled. The veiled sun sank lower and lower in the west. The wind, increasing in force, grew colder. Dark shadows stole out of the scrub and threw themselves across the prairie. Night was settling down.