“Fudge! Now don’t be in a hurry,” replied Moffat, kicking his blanket off from him. “Just take a peep at the door to see if there’s any light.” “No, there is not a streak of day. I looked only this minute.” “Look again. I’ll bet my rifle against your life you will see it this time.” Kingman stepped to the door, and again looked forth. Sure enough, just over the eastern edge of the wilderness a gray, misty light was visible, and there was no mistaking its cause. “Day is at hand, indeed!” exclaimed he, joyously. “Let us be off at once.” “Not too fast, for there must be considerable more light before we start.” The two men made noiseless but careful preparations for their journey. A burning pine knot afforded them a bright, though oily and smoky light. Their hunting shirts were buckled tightly beneath their girdles, from each of which protruded the handles of a couple of knives; their moccasins secured, and their rifles examined most minutely; and as Moffat looked around and saw that nothing else was wanting he blew out the light and the two men stepped forth into the open air. No one was yet visible stirring in the settlement, and they made their way cautiously toward the northern and largest block-house. It was yet so early and dark that there was no necessity of starting for a half hour yet. As they reached the block-house Kingman was surprised to find a considerable number of their friends already there. Among them he noticed Captain Parks, Wetzel, Stuart, Prentice, and several others. “Rather ’arly, ain’t you?” remarked Wetzel. “Yes; we will wait here a while before we start. Lew, do you suppose it is the Shawnees who have carried her off, or some other tribe?” “I guess it’s the Shawnees. They’re generally in all kinds of deviltry, and that Pete Johnson, I believe, figures among them.” “He is as often in the other tribes, so that you can hardly tell anything by that. She’s in desperate hands, I can tell you,” added Moffat, in a lower tone. “I know that, and you have a hard job before you, Abe.” “Umph!” remarked the captain; “If you can only rid the country of that Pete Johnson, you will be immortalized. Do it, and I’ll never kick you again—I won’t, upon my honor.” “Then I think I will do it,” laughed the ranger. “Isn’t it time to be moving?” asked Kingman, anxiously. “Yes; it’s getting light, and we might as well start.” “George,” said Stuart, as he took our hero’s hand, and the tears streamed down his face, “be careful, and do your utmost, for you know what there is at stake. She is yours forever if you can save her. God grant it.” All now bade our friends farewell, and they made their way cautiously out of the block-house. By this time the sun was just appearing above the edge of the forest, and they hurried forward upon their dangerous duty.