For the instant when Dave made the discovery that the form in the darkness was that of an Indian, the young soldier knew not what to do.

He raised his musket to fire, but did not pull the trigger, fearing the newcomer might be a friend.

“Halt!” he called out, a second later. “Who comes there?”

But the Indian did not halt. Instead he made a sudden movement to one side, and instantly vanished behind a neighboring tree.

“What’s the matter?” came from Silvers, who had heard the young guard’s challenge. “What did you see?”

“An Indian!” cried Dave. “He just leaped behind a tree over yonder.”

“An Indian!” was the cry from several, and in a moment everybody was on his feet and had his firearm in hand.

“We may be surrounded,” came from Raymond. “Better lie low,” and his advice was obeyed. As they scattered to the nearby rocks and bushes, Silvers moved cautiously towards the spot where Dave had discovered the red man.

“You are certain it was a redskin?” asked Henry, who had placed himself beside his cousin. “It’s pretty dark to see anything.”

“I know a redskin when I see him, Henry. But I must admit that he was very low, and the way he got out of sight was a marvel.”

“Oh, they can move in a hurry when they have to. One thing is certain, he isn’t friendly to the English, or he wouldn’t be afraid to show himself.”

The two young soldiers waited with bated breath. Each had put a fresh priming on his gun and felt to see that his flint-lock was in good condition. Their very lives might depend upon the shots they made.

Presently they heard voices at a distance, that of Silvers and the guttural tones of a red man.

“If you are alone, come out here and we won’t shoot you,” they heard the sharpshooter say. “Boys don’t shoot this fellow!” he called back to his companions.

“We hear you, cap,” answered Raymond, and a moment later Silvers appeared from the forest, followed by the Indian, who carried only a bow and several arrows.

“Why, it’s White Buffalo!” cried Dave in astonishment. And he stepped forward to greet his old Indian friend, while Henry did the same.

“How? how?” said the Indian chief, taking their hands in his own. “White Buffalo think it was Dave he see, but was not sure.”

“Do you know this Injun?” demanded Silvers.

“To be sure we do!” cried Dave. “He is White Buffalo, an under chief of the Delawares. He has often fought with us against the French, and he is well-known to Washington and to Sir William.”

“In that case, I reckon it’s all right,” said Silvers, and lowered his musket.

“Are you alone, White Buffalo?” questioned Henry, with interest.

“Yes, White Buffalo is alone,” replied the red chief. “He was out hunting and hurt his foot on the sharp rocks.” He showed the injury, which he had bound up with a bit of rag. “He could not get back to his followers, so walked down to the lake for water.”

“I reckon we can fix up that hurt a little better,” said Dave, and set to work without delay. While he did this, the Indian chief told of his adventures, and of how he had brought down a big deer with an arrow and how his followers had started back to the fort with the game.

“White Buffalo has seen the trail of the French around here,” he went on. “The white brothers must beware, or they will fall into a snare.”

“We’ll keep our eyes open,” answered Silvers.

White Buffalo said he would remain with the soldiers until morning, and soon the camp settled down once again to rest. His foot was badly cut, but when Dave had put on some salve that had been placed among the stores, he said it felt much better.

“David is right,” he said, while talking to the youth. “This war is not yet in sight of the end. The French agents have been again among the red men. They bring valuable presents and much drink, and promise many things to the Indian if he will but fight with them against the English.”

“But White Buffalo, you will not listen to them,” cried Dave.

“Has not White Buffalo spoken before?” said the Indian chief in a hurt tone. “And when he has spoken, his mind is as fast as the rock upon which he sits.”

“I knew it!” cried the young soldier. “Oh, I wish all the Indians were as trustworthy as you.”

“The red man’s heart is full of trouble,” went on the Indian chief sadly. “White Buffalo will stand by the English, but when the war is at an end, when the hatchet is buried and the smoke of the pipe of peace floats on the evening air, who shall give to the Indian the land that is rightfully his own? If the French win they will keep the land, and if the English win they will keep the land, and White Buffalo and his brethren will have nothing—the maize land and the hunting land will all be gone from him.”

“It is a pity, White Buffalo, there is no denying it,” put in Henry. “You ought to have the land just as well as the white man. But the trouble is, you won’t cultivate it as we do.”

At this the chief drew himself up. “The Indian is a hunter, not a farmer,” he said proudly. “He lives by the chase and by what Nature grows for him.”

“That’s just what causes the trouble, White Buffalo. A man who plants land can live on a few acres, but one who lives by hunting must have miles and miles of plains and forests for his roamings. I like hunting myself, you know I do, so I can understand some of your feelings. But as more people come over here, or are born on the land, we’ll have to do less and less of hunting, and more planting and stock raising. In Europe there are so many people they couldn’t possibly live by hunting even if they wanted to. What would you do if there were so many Indians here?”

“The Great Spirit who rules the happy hunting ground takes care of that.” The chief paused. “And then there are wars.”

“Yes, I know you often lose plenty of warriors by your tribal quarrels,” said Henry. “But to get back to where we started from. If I have my say, you shall never suffer so long as I have a roof over my head.”

“When the war is over, I want White Buffalo to go with me to the trading-post on the Kinotah,” put in Dave. “The hunting and fishing there will delight him, I know.”

At this the red man looked grateful.

“David and Henry are indeed my brothers,” he said softly. “White Buffalo shall be their friend to the death,” and he placed the back of the hand of each up to his forehead.

The alarms of the night were not yet at an end. It was still dark, and Dave and Henry, along with White Buffalo, had dropped into a light sleep, when a cry from Gilfoy, who was on guard, awakened them.

“Some wild beast prowling around,” he announced. “Sounds to me like a wildcat.”

“Then I’m going to be on my guard,” said Dave. He had not forgotten how a wildcat had once leaped upon him while he was in bathing.

All in the camp were soon on the alert. Each listened, but could hear nothing but the gurgle of the tiny stream that poured over the rocks at this spot and into the lake.

“Guess you must have been dreaming, Gilfoy,” said Silvers, at length. “Was it another Injun?”

“No, it was no redskin, onless he was climbin’ the trees,” answered the Irish-American soldier.

“White Buffalo can hear it,” came from the Indian chief, as they all listened again. “It comes from over there,” and he pointed with his finger to a clump of silver maples twenty feet away. “As the white soldier says, it is a wild beast.”

“You must have keen ears,” put in Silvers. “I can’t hear a thing but the brook.”

“White Buffalo lives by the hunt.”

“Perhaps you had better go forward and find him then.”

“White Buffalo can do that, too,” was the quick answer.

“I’ll go along,” said Henry and caught up his musket once more.

With extreme caution the two left the circle of the camp-fire which had been started after the first alarm. The Indian held an arrow to his bow, and the young soldier had his finger on the trigger of his firearm.

The advance was very slow and absolutely noiseless. Henry now showed his training as a hunter. Coming to the nearest of the maples, both halted without a sound and peered upward.

There was nothing to be seen, and they moved around to the next tree. Then both caught the dim outline of some animal, crouching low on a thick branch, ready to leap.

There followed the crack of a musket and the whiz of an arrow almost simultaneously, and the wild animal raised up, with a scream of pain. Then it made a mad leap, striking Henry on the shoulder, and both rolled to the ground in the dark.

“Help!” yelled the young soldier, “help!”

The fall had been a peculiar one, and as the youth and beast rolled over, the animal got its foreleg entangled in the strap of Henry’s musket. It snapped at the weapon, burying its teeth deeply into the wooden stock. Then, realizing its mistake, it let the musket go and snapped at the young soldier, but by this time Henry had rolled out of reach.

Hearing the cry for help, Dave rushed forward, followed by the others, Raymond and Gilfoy carrying torches snatched from the camp-fire.

“It’s a catamount!” cried Raymond. “Give it to him, men!” And he opened fire with his own musket.

Gilfoy threw his torch at the beast, and it landed on the catamount’s head, causing it to turn and roll over in alarm. Then the beast made another leap, this time straight for Raymond’s throat.

As the catamount left the ground White Buffalo fired a second arrow. His first had grazed the catamount’s back. His second aim was more true, and with a snarl the beast fell back with the point sticking deeply in its side.

“Good for you, White Buffalo!” cried Henry.

He had scarcely spoken when Dave took a shot at the beast, followed by Shamer and lastly Silvers. All three of the shots went more or less true, and the catamount whirled round and round, snapping and snarling. Then it dropped in a heap, gave a few kicks, and lay still.

“That was a wild one, and no mistake,” said Silvers, after all had assured themselves that the catamount was really dead.

“He’s large, too,” said Gilfoy, and the Irish-American soldier was right. The beast was nearly three feet long, exclusive of the sweeping tail, and had heavy-set legs and a powerful, “bullish” neck.

“We had better see if there are any more around,” said Henry, and the search was started as soon as the firearms were reloaded.

But no other wild beasts put in an appearance, and at last, worn out by the work of the day just past and by the numerous alarms, the soldiers lay down once more, to snatch another nap ere the sun came up.