In order to colonise the disputed territory, Massachusetts at about this time began a system of granting lands as a reward for meritorious service in fighting the Indians, and among others was a grant to the survivors of the famous “Snow Shoe Expedition” of the tract of land below Namaske Falls, which had gained the disreputable name of Old Harrytown. The leader of the expedition, Captain Tyng, was dead, but in honour of him the new town was named Tyng Township. In one respect the settlers of Tyng Township were fortunate. They arrived during one of those transitory intervals of comparative peace, which came and went during the long and sanguinary struggle with the Indians like flashes of sunlight on a stormy day. In 1725, following several victories of the whites over their savage enemies, foremost of which was Lovewell’s fight, the chief of the Abnaki Indians, then the leading tribe in New England, signed a treaty of peace at Boston. This treaty was not broken until 1744, and the whole history of Tyng Township is included within these two dates. As stated above, some of the Scotch-Irish, under grants from New Hampshire, had already settled in the territory granted by Massachusetts to Tyng’s men, and an intense rivalry at once sprang up between the settlements. The English were determined and aggressive, the Scotch stubborn and ready to fight to the bitter end for what they considered their rights, and before long both sides were ready to resort to arms the moment an overt act of their rivals should seem to call for such measures. G. WALDO BROWNE. THE WOODRANGER. CHAPTER I. THE DEER’S LEAP. As the distant baying of a hound broke like a discordant note upon the quiet of the summer afternoon, a youth sprang upright on the pinnacle of a cliff which reared its bald head above the surrounding forest, and listened for a repetition of the unexpected alarm. The young listener presented a striking figure, the strong physique of limb and body brought into bold relief against the sky, and each feature clearly outlined, as he gazed into space. He was in his nineteenth year, above the medium height, but so symmetrical in form that he did not look out of proportion. His high cheek-bones, clear blue eyes, straight nose, well-curved chin, and firm-set mouth showed the characteristics of the Lowland sons of old Scotland. His name was Norman McNiel. For nearly an hour he had lain there on the summit of Rock Rimmon, gazing in a dreamy way over the broad panorama of wilderness, while his mind carried him back across the stormy sea to his early home in Northern Ireland, which he had left a year before to come to this country with his young foster-sister Rilma and their aged grandfather, Robert MacDonald, last of the noted MacDonalds of Glencoe.