had been continuous troubles with the Indians on the frontier; that a great many farms and settlements had been destroyed, and numbers of persons murdered.
Their stay at Detroit was a short one. Harold obtained no news of his cousins, but there were so many tales told of Indian massacres that he was filled with apprehension on their account. His worst apprehensions were justified when the canoes at length came within sight of the well-remembered clearing. Harold gave a cry as he saw that the farmhouse no longer existed. The two canoes were headed toward shore, and their occupants disembarked and walked toward the spot where the house had stood. The site was marked by a heap of charred embers. The outhouses had been destroyed, and a few fowls were the only living things to be seen in the fields.
"This here business must have taken place some time ago," Peter said, breaking the silence. "A month, I should say, or p'r'aps more."
For a time Harold was too moved to speak. The thought of his kind cousins and their brave girl all murdered by the Indians filled him with deep grief. At last he said:
"What makes you think so, Peter?"
"It's easy enough to see as it was after the harvest, for ye see the fields is all clear. And then there's long grass shooting up through the ashes. It would take a full month, p'r'aps six weeks, afore it would do that. Don't you think so, chief?"
The Seneca nodded.
"A moon," he said.
"Yes, about a month," replied Peter. "The grass grows quick after the rains."
"Do you think that it was a surprise, Peter?"
"No man can tell," the hunter answered. "If we had seen the place soon afterward we might have told. There would have been marks of blood. Or if the house had stood we could have told by the bullet-holes and the color of the splintered wood how it happened and how long back. As it is, not even the chief can give ye an idea."
"Not an attack," the Seneca said; "a surprise."
"How on arth do you know that, chief?" the hunter exclaimed in surprise, and he looked round in search of some sign which would have enabled the Seneca to have given so confident an opinion. "You must be a witch, surely."
"A chief's eyes are not blind," the redskin answered, with a slight smile of satisfaction at having for once succeeded when his white comrade was at fault. "Let my friend look up the hill—two dead men there."
Harold looked in the direction in which the chief pointed, but could see nothing. The hunter exclaimed:
"There's something there, chief, but even my eyes couldn't tell they were bodies."
The party proceeded to the spot and found two skeletons. A few remnants of clothes lay around, but the birds had stripped every particle of flesh from the bones. There was a bullet in the forehead of one skull; the other was cleft with a sharp instrument.
"It's clear enough," the hunter said, "there's been a surprise. Likely enough the hull lot was killed without a shot being fired in defense."
Chapter XIV.
Rescued!
Harold was deeply touched at the evidences of the fate which had befallen the occupants of his cousin's plantation.
"If there are any more of these to be found," pointing to their remains, "we might learn for a certainty whether the same fate befell them all."
The Seneca spoke a word to his followers and the four Indians spread themselves over the clearing. One more body was found—it was lying down near the water as if killed in the act of making for the canoe.
"The others are probably there," Peter said, pointing to the ruins. "The three hands was killed in the fields, and most likely the attack was made at the same moment on the house. I'm pretty sure it was so, for the body by the water lies face downward, with his head toward the lake. He was no doubt shot from behind as he was running. There must have been Injuns round the house then, or he would have made for that instead of the water."
The Seneca touched Peter on the shoulder and pointed toward the farm. A figure was seen approaching. As it came nearer they could see that he was a tall man, dressed in the deerskin shirt and leggings usually worn by hunters. As he came near Harold gave an exclamation:
"It is Jack Pearson!"
"It are Jack Pearson," the hunter said, "but for the moment I can't recollect ye, though yer face seems known. Why!" he exclaimed in changed tones, "it's that boy Harold growed into a man."
"It is," Harold replied, grasping the frontiersman's hand.
"And ye may know me, too," Peter Lambton said, "though it's twenty year since we fought side by side against the Mohawks."
"Why, old hoss, are you above ground still?" the hunter exclaimed heartily. "I'm glad to see you again, old friend. And what are you doing here, you and Harold and these Senecas? For they is Senecas, sure enough. I've been in the woods for the last hour, and have been puzzling myself nigh to death. I seed them Injuns going about over the clearing sarching, and for the life of me I couldn't think what they were a-doing. Then I seed 'em gathered down here, with two white men among 'em, so I guessed it was right to show myself."
"They were searching to see how many had fallen in this terrible business," Harold said, pointing to the ruins. The hunter shook his head.
"I'm afeared they've all gone under. I were here a week afterward; it were just as it is now. I found the three hands lying killed and sculped in the fields; the others, I reckon, is there. I has no doubt at all about Bill Welch and his wife, but it may be that the gal has been carried off."
"Do you think so?" Harold exclaimed eagerly. "If so, we may find her, too, with the other."
"What other?" Pearson, asked.
Harold gave briefly an account of the reason which had brought them to the spot and of the object they had in view.
"You can count me in," Pearson said. "There's just a chance that Nelly Welch may be in their hands still; and in any case I'm longing to draw a bead on some of the varmints to pay 'em for this," and he looked round him, "and a hundred other massacres round this frontier."
"I'm glad to hear ye say so," Peter replied. "I expected as much of ye, Jack. I don't know much of this country, having only hunted here for a few weeks with a party of Delawares twenty year afore the Iroquois moved so far west."
"I know pretty nigh every foot of it," Jack Pearson said. "When the Iroquois were quiet I used to do a deal of hunting in their country. It are good country for game."
"Well! shall we set out at once?" Harold asked, impatient to be off.
"We can't move to-night," Pearson answered; and Harold saw that Peter and the Indians agreed with him.
"Why not?" he asked. "Every hour is of importance."
"That's so," Peter said, "but there's no going out on the lake to-night. In half an hour we'll have our first snowstorm, and by morning it will be two foot deep."
Harold turned his eyes toward the lake and saw what his companions had noticed long before. The sky was overcast and a thick bank of hidden clouds was rolling up across the lake, and the thick mist seemed to hang between the clouds and the water.
"That's snow," Peter said. "It's late this year, and I'd give my pension if it was a month later."
"That's so," Pearson said. "Snow aint never pleasant in the woods, but when you're scouting round among Injuns it are a caution. We'd best make a shelter afore it comes on."
The two canoes were lifted from the water, unloaded, and turned bottom upward; a few charred planks, which had formed part of the roof of the outhouses, were brought and put up to form a sort of shelter. A fire was lit and a meal prepared. By this time the snow had begun to fall. After the meal was over