“And he returned to murder the commander,” Ross muttered under his breath. “So that, at least, was a part of Bradford’s plan; and it has miscarried. Who _is_ that man—an agent of the British? He’s foiled for the present, at any rate. But what does he know of me? Why was he so agitated when he learned my name? And no doubt he’s at the Prophet’s Town, impatiently awaiting the news that the governor is assassinated. Thank God, he’s doomed to disappointment!” Gradually the noises of the camp died out. Wrapped in their blankets and with their guns at their sides, the soldiers stretched themselves around the fires and fell asleep. The wind moaned dismally; the flames cast grotesque shadows over the sleeping forms. In the outer darkness the sentries paced their lonely beats. The murmur of shouting savages and barking dogs came in on the wings of the fitful gale, telling that the inhabitants of the Prophet’s Town were still astir. Then the fickle wind veered to another point of the compass—and all was still. Suddenly the silence was broken by the voice of a lusty singer. The sleepers stirred uneasily as they heard in their dreams: “The Injins hankers fer my scalp, To sell to the highest bidder; An’ when I’m dead an’ in my grave, My wife ’ll be a widder!” “Drat the critter, anyhow!” grumbled Farley, flopping over upon his stomach and raising his head. “He’s at it ag’in. Seems he can’t sleep, n’r let anybody else. I wish to gosh he’d stayed in ol’ Kaintuck with his wife an’ babies—I do, by Tabithy!” Then in a startled voice: “Say, Ross, wake up! Y’r Injin’s took his departure. Ther’ ain’t hide n’r hair of him to be seen.” Douglas rubbed his eyes and sat erect. Bright Wing had disappeared. [Illustration] CHAPTER IV. “When did you discover his absence, Joe?” was Douglas’s first question. “Jest this minute,” Farley replied promptly. “That dang Kaintuckian waked me up with his caterwaulin’—an’ I found the Injin gone. Then I called you. Listen to that critter squallin’—an’ he calls it singin’!” “What can have become of the Wyandot?” Ross asked, unheeding Joe’s complaining tone—as he arose and peered into the shadows. “Don’t know,” Joe answered, with an expressive shake of the head. “But I know what _will_ become o’ him, if he goes nosin’ ’round the camp.” “What?” “Some o’ the sentries ’ll take him fer a prowlin’ redskin from the town over yander, an’ put an ounce o’ lead into him—that’s what.” “That’s ’bout so,” growled one of the militiamen from under his blanket. “You are right,” Ross admitted. “I’ll make a circuit of the camp and try to find him.” “An’ while you’re gone, kill that Kaintuckian ’r have the officer o’ the guard buck an’ gag him,” Farley snarled as he again threw himself upon the ground. Douglas failed to find his red comrade and returned to his place by the fire. “See anything o’ the Injin?” Joe sleepily inquired. “No,” was the monosyllabic reply.