.150 a your. Vol. V. Entered at the Post Office at New York. Y as Second Class Mall Matter. _ 7.. .._—-.- -m ".7 Copyright. 1833, by BEADLE AND ADAMS. December :36, 1883. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS. Price, N No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. Five Cent. 0. . Sin 1e Nnm er. MARIAN], THE OTTAWA GIRL; or, The Mystgrious Canoe. BY EDWARD S- ELLIS, AUTHOR. OF " THE SETTLER‘S Hos,’ mu, ETC. -,$_.~., fi-Ejéi'ps . .Lrlf ‘ THIN A PADDLE WAS SEEN T0 FLASH 1N THE WATER, AND INSTANTLY THE HYBTERIOUB CANOE WENT SKIM'MING FORWARD LIKE A BIRD. Mariano, THE OTTAWA GIRL. OR, THE MYSTERIOUS CANOE. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS, AUTHOR or “ canisrilrv JIM, ran WHITE MAN’S FRIEND,” ETC., ETC. CHAPTER I. LOVE-STRUCK. Hui-slings of nature, I mark your bold bearing, Pride in each aspect, and strength in each form, Hearts of warm impulse, and souls of high during, Born in the battle, and reared in the storm. The red levin flash, and the thunder’s dmad rattle, The rock-riven wave, and the war-trumpet‘s breath, The din of the tempest, the yell of the. battle. Nerve your steeled bosoms to danger and death. —J. R. DRAKE. Tim blood-red sun had passed _,the meridian, and was sinking in the unruflied bosom of Lake Erie, on an autumn day, a hundred years ago, when a single canoe containing a single person, habited in the garb of hunter, shot out from one of thenumerous in ts of the northern shore, and took an easterly course. A lance at the occupant would have shown that e was one of those personages so Well known on the frontier at that time, and who are now scarcely met with except in the pages of history. An em— browned face, covered with a scraggy board, an iron frame, and indurated muscles—ii keen, unwavering eye and a command of his physi- cal resources—s ch were the characteristics of the huntpr wh plied the canoe with such skill. His name wa asii Veghte. ‘ Thero’was delicious stillness in the air; and, as the slight ndian canoe glided over the glassy surface, it arcely made a ripple. Although but a,few r s from shore, yet the water was man fat ms deep, and far down beneath, the peb, as c Id be seen glistening upon the bottom, and the uge flsh occasionally assin to and fro. A nfthe bankhfor miles in one direc- tion, t crest stretched. The hand of the 'onee had not yet been laid upon its columns. 0 th left lay Lake Erie—one of those vast in- ,land ass that are the wonder of the world. Its sur ce, so rarely placid, lay now under that su mer sun, perfectly quiescent. There was a l guor in the air that suggested to any‘mind at the lake, as well as all the surrounding ob- jects of nature, was asleep. This simile was hightened by the appearance of a small group of islands, several-miles from shore, that lay low down in the water. ‘ It was in the direction of these isles that the hunter’s eyes were fixed as he dallied with his fiaddle, and slowly glided along the shore. ever once were they_turned toward the wood on his right. He seemed to have no fear of the treacherous crack of a. rifle from its depths. The red Indian could have picked .him oif to a dead certainty, but such a. contingency seemed not to enter the hunter’s mind. As has been already said, the islands were the object of his attention. He had glided perhaps a hundred rods, in his quiet manner, his eyes never refraining from looking out upor. the lake, when he held his paddle motionless, and his canoe gradually came to rest. As it did so, he arose to a stand- ing position, and shading his eyes from the glare of the sun,'gazed long and searchingly out upon the lake. “It’s time it was there,”he muttered. “ It was earlier ’n this that I seen it yesterday, and it hardly ever misses the time; but, I’ll be shot, if I can see anything of it now.” He looked to the south, and then to the north of the islands, but the object that he was seek- In ing still remained invisible. Finally he sunk , down inhis canoe. , “Can’t be I’m too late, and yet it might be too. It’s about two hours past the time of noon; and, let me see,'it was a little ’arlier that the thing aappeared yesterday. Beats all creation 1” be ad ed, after a moment’s reflection. “ I think there must be a. sperit in it! it may be that it is further out on the lake, and it ain’t nigh enough to be seen. I’ll try this thing! got from Ensign Christie, at Presq' Isle, and see whether it will help me or not." Once more he rose in his canoe, and produced 3 small @3193ch which, adjusting to his eye he turned tode the islands already refer-r to. For several minutes he swept the horizon, Mariano, the Ottawa Girl. but was again disappointed in encountering the ohjecl of his search. " Queer,“ he muttered, as he once more sunk down in his canoe. “It maybe there, and yet I’ve missed seeing it. There ain’t many that‘s got a better pair of eyes than mine, and it seems with the help of this contrivance, I could see a bug crawling around among them islands, but I can’t see it.’ . He relapsed into a reverie, the termination of which was the paddling of his canoe in to land. Stepping upon the shore, he pulled the frail ves- sel after him, and then strode toward a tail tree. It required but a few moments for him to ascend this. To the very topmost branches he Wont, where, producing his telescope, he once more devoted himself to searching the lake for the object that was the cause of his voyage thither. Patience is a characteristic of the border— man. His years of encounter with the trench- erous red-man gives him an amount almost equal to that acquired by the Esquimaux, who will sit for a. dozen hours without motion beside the hole from which he expects the. coveted seal to rise. Long and patientl did Basil Veghte gaze out upon the surface 0 Lake Erie. Slow- ;iy he swept the glass from north to south, and holly settled upon a point just below the southernmost island. ‘ , “ It don’t seem any use in lookir‘g," he solilo« quized. “I don’t think a wild duck could have ’scaped my sight, but I see nothin’—- Hello 1” Just rounding the point of the island toward which he was gazing, he described a black speck that an ordinary eye would have pronounced a water-fowl; but the hunter was not deceived for an instant. “It’s the canoe !” he added, with an excite- ment rather startling in a man of his tried nerve. The object, then, which he had been seeking was a canoe, or rather the person who guided it. It was now before him, and eagerly did he scan it and its occupant. And yet it was not vis— ible for morethan a minute. Under the control of an experienced hand it was gliding swiitly, and almost immediately disappeared behind the island which had been scrutinized so long. Basil Veghte remained in his perch, scanning every portion of the islands with the telescope, in the hope that he might gain another glimpse of the mystic canoe and its occupant; but, al— though hc continued his ocular search for fully threequarters of an hour, yet nothing further was discovered, and with a deep sigh he replaced his telescope, and descended to the ground. Here, before entering his own vessel, be folded his arms and leaned against the tree in a deep reverie. “ Women is queer things; that‘s Mariano in that canoe, and what business have I to be watchin’ her as ifI was a spy? What brings her to them islands! That‘s the question that’s bothered me all summer, and I‘ve never been able to answer it.” For a few moments more he maintained silence, but, as was his custom, when musing, it was not long before he again began his self- conversation. “ Somehow or other I believe that Johi son is mixed up in this matter. Something tells me so; I seem to feel it in my bones. and when that's the case, I‘m never mistook. That night that I met him in the woods ‘in the snow—storm, I felt for a half—hour that he was coming, and sure enough he came, when it seemed a wild bear couldn‘t have stood the storm." “ Women is queer things,” he again resumed. “It’s a ity that Johnson wasn’t killed when Fort Presq' sie fell—then I wouldn’t be bothered in this manner. If I didn’t‘know he was trying to hunt down that gal, I could go on and scout and think nothin’ more about it." But the hunter had not as yet learned enough of his own nature to understand that such could not be. The suspicion regarding Johnson may have been a werful auxiliary cause, but the true reason or his rsistent watching for the mystic canoe, was his absorbing interest in its occupant. Many months before, he had stood on the northern shore of Lake Erie, in deep reverie, when Mariano this Indian girl, had landed upon the beach, an stood before him. There he mus- tered sufllcient courage to do the bravest deed of his life—he had asked her to share her life with him. As if terror-struck, the girl gave an impulsive denial, and almost instantly em~ barked in her canoe. The hunter was left standing upon the shin- gle, still absorbed in reverie, until she disap- peared over the lake, when he turned and en- tered the wood. Had her refusal been a. de- liberate and decided one, Basil Veghte would resolutely haw kept down his choking aspire.- tions and flung away forever the fond hope that he still cherished. But the manner in which she had declined his impassioned offer raised a doubt as to its genuineness. With no reason which he could ever give to himself, he at- tributed the cause to Horace J ohnsonn-that'evil genius which had followed him for so long a time and, by the girl’s own confession, had followe her like a shadow, greatly to her own unhappi- ness. He longed to encounter the girl once more— to hear in an unexcitecl manner the irrevocable words fall from her lips. Not until then could he bring himself to the point of dismissing the dream that seemed scarcely to forsake him for an hour, whether waking or sleeping. For the space of six months or so be hunted much in the manner that an automaton would have done. Finally, in the spring of the year, his footste again led him along the northern shore of t o lake. Here he searched out the village which was the home of the Ottawa girl, Mariano. On several occasions he gained a glimpse of her, but never did he allow himself to be discovered. He then observed something regarding the creature which was certainly singular and un: explaiuahie to him. Every day, at near the middle of the forenoon, she started from be- neath the wooded bank, a mile or two below the village, and, in a. small canoe, made her way to a group of islands just visible in the dis- tance. This proceeding gave the hunter con- siderable uneasiness, and confirmed him in his belief that women most emphatically were “ queer things." After watching her departure in this manner for several moriings, he finally attempted to follow her from the land. But the little vessel was guided too dexterously, and was not long in leaving him behind. With many doubts re— garding the propriety of his course, be ap- proached her starting—point one night, in his own canoe, and, remaining concealed until she had gone a good distance, be cautiously fol- lo“ ed. It required no little skill to prevent his being discovered; but with his telescope he could keep her under observation, when she must lose all sight of him, even were her keen black eyes on the look-out for some nrsuer, as it seemed to the hunter that she real y was. It never once entered Basil Veghte’s head that, perhaps, he had a pursutr. It would have been well had he occasionally glanced behind him! - Finally, he saw her turn her canoe toward the cluster of islands referred to. Between these were tortuous‘channels, in whit-ha fugi- tive might hewilder the most persistent foe. She had scarcely entered these waters when she 'Was lost to view. Why did not Basil Veghle follow?_ He dare not. His own innate sense of right forbade. It appeared as if these islands were sacred to the beautiful maiden, and he would have felt as though he were invading and desecrating holy ground to venture there. Running his canoe under the bank, he took his station, and, with a telescope in hand, awaited her appearance. Bui, although he stood there until the sun set, and darkness closed around him, he saw nothing more re— garding her. The night happened to be moon. ight, and, embarking in is boat, he paddled out on the lake, until the islands once more came to view, when he watched several hours for her. But it availed nothing, and he at last returned to the shore, and lay down for a few hours’ slumber. On the morrow, at very nearly the iimeas on the previous day, she made her appearance and disappearance in recisely the manner already recorded. The outer watched for her and failed again, as he believed he should do when he took his station. Day after day, until months had elapsed, and the summer was for advanced, did the same thing occur. Veghte had crme to look upon the whole proceeding as partaking largely of the supernatural. Mariano was something above human, and was “ to be treated accord- ingly.” And, as the darkness gathered around him, what vision was it that came unbiddcn? The canoe that had haunted him for so many months. “And how is this goin to end?” he asked himself after a use. “ him getting well on in years, and I’ve ad white hairs in my head for a long time. I s’poso I shall hunt, hunt, tramp. tramp. till some day a red-skin wings me, or I go to slee and never wake up again. “Yes, must wake up again—but whom? In l Mariano, the Ottawa Girl. 3 the other world that I’ve thought about, dream— ed about, and remember hearing my mother talk about, when I stood at her knee? I wonder whether I shall meet her and the little sister that they put in the ground a great many long years ago? Something tells me I shall—but it is won derr’ul—wonderful l" Many a sleepless night and unquiet day had he endured since encountering Mariano, on that awful December night. The forest life, although very dear and fascinating, lost part of its charms, from its contrast with what might be I Home! with its charms and sacred joys—a place where to lay his head; a gentle form with the love light beaming in her eyes, waiting—to welcome his return; the sweet word, “ Father,” uttered by infantile lips; the days of wandering ended, and rest, peace, repose! Ay, the same, same dream that had followed him day and night; in storm and sunshine; in the solemn depths of the great woods; in the thrilling moment of conflict; during the exciting hunt, and the lonely hours of solitude—a dream that had now grown to be an inseparable part of his very nature. Not until the moon had sunk low in the heavens, and dense darkness shrouded wood and lake, did the hunter change his position. Then, as if waking to consciousness, he slung his rifle over his shoulder and strode away into the forest, taking a direction that led along the lake-shore for e(perhaps a hundred rods or so, when he turn abruptly to the left, and ‘going about the same distance into the wood, he hnlt~ ed before a dense mass of slirubbery and under- growth. Had there been sufiicient light, this mass would have been found to consist princi- ally of solid rocks, with huge bowlders outly. ing like sentinels. Tue interior of this resort was hollow, and, in short, had been the home of Basil Veghte for many months. Taking a stooping position, he immediately entered is semi-subterranean house, and throw- ing himself upon a mass of limbs, pre ared to sleep. All was utter darkness around im, yet be needed no light. It would have been impos- sible, under the circumstances, not to under- stand every inch of the apartment. The hunter was relapsing into unconscious- ness, when he suddenly became aware that there was some one else present besides himself. He distinctly heard him breathing but a few feet distant. It would be diflicult to describe the sensations of the man at. this discovery. The most prominent one certainly was sumrise that such a state of things should exist; and the next emotion was the instinctive one of self—preserv- ation. ' The deep, regular breathing of the intruder proved that e was sleeping—so profoundly sleeping, in fact, that he had not been disturbed by the entrance of Veghte. This naturally raised a doubt as to whether he was a white man or' not. He could hardl be a North American In- dian and slumber so eavily., While Veghte was turning these questions over in his mind, the sleeper gave a yawn—so Caucasian, in fact. as to settle at once the iden- tity of his race. He was no red-man—that was certain. Being a white man, he could scarcely be an enemy; and yet, it was by no means certain that he was a friend. have scarcely “ bearded the lion in his den ” in‘ this manner. Veghte decided that he had cn< tiered it without suspecting it was inhabited, and Was still unaware that any one else laid claim to its possession. The hunter remained perfectly still, deciding to await developments. The man seemed to turnand mutter something unintelligible, and then composed himself for further sleep. Veghte was hardly willing that this should continue un- til he had learned somethin more regarding his visitor. Accordingly be ca led out: “ I say, you. there!” ‘ There was “sensation ” beyond question, but no reply. “ I say, you, there; what might you be doing in these parts?” 2 The answer came, in a deep, rich vOice: “ I was seeking slumber, my friend.” “Rather a queer way to enter a man’s ouse.” “ I did not know that it belonged to any one. If I have given offense, I will go out in the open air, and s eep there.” " No on won't either; you stay here.” “If am welcome, I do; otherwise, I should prefer not to disturb you." “There was no disturbance about it, though I own it did kind of startle me when I heard you breathin’-like.” “And I was much disturbed to find I had in. If the former, he would ‘ vaded another man’s dominion. be addressing?” “ Basil Veghte is my name.” “Ahl—the same that was at Presq‘ Isle when it fell?” “The same, precisely. How did you know of that?" ~ “I have heard of you often Mr. Johnson—- Horace Johnson—has mentioned your name in my presence.” - “ Ah——is that so? What did he say?“ “ I cannot be a tale-bearer,” replied the man, without the slightest bitterness in his tone. "I didn’t expect you to be,” was the some- what sullen rejoinder. “ I wouldn't care what any one else said; but that man—I don’t like him, and I should like to hear what he thinks about me." “ His words can do thee no harm, so it will be wise to think no more about them." “ He has no reason to like me——” “Has be reason to dislike thee?" “ VVal, I can’t exactly say about that; but I am pretty sure he, doesn’t admire me much. But,’: suddenly exclaimed the hunter, “who are on?’ y " I am known as Father Jonois." “ A priest among the Indians!” “ The same.” “ I’ve heard of you, often, and can say I am lad to see you—which ain’t exactly true, as can’t set eyes on you at all, just now, in the darkness.” The priest laughed at this rough attempt at witticism, and the best of feelin was now es- tablished between the two men. ather Jonois was one of those good men who, a hundred years since, devoted his life to the amelioration and spiritual improvement of the Indians. For many years he had labored along both shores of Lake Erie, traveling over an area of thousands of miles, and scarcely enjoying a day’s rest. This, in time, gave him an acquaintance, per- haps, more extensive than that of any living man. He had stood beside the dying warrior; he had administered unto the sick, and abound- ed in good works at all times. No hand was ever raised against Father Jonois. He was never known to carry a weapon with him. How he obtained his food, when traveling over the lon stretches intervening between the forts and vil ages, could scarcely be told; but he had been heard to remark that he never wanted— the same One who fed the sparrows would not ermit him to suffer. Through the French and ndian war, he did not cease his labors, en- countering alike each hostile force with equal impunity. He was now near sixty years of age, but his frame was erect, and his, footstop firm as over. His silvery hair fell low upon his shoulders, giving him a very patriarchal ap— pearance, somewhat increased by a staff which he carried in his hand. His dress was scrupu~ lously neat, and always of the clerical black, worn in the fashion of France at the time he left forty years before. He would not conform to the customs of those among whom he la— bored, except in the wearing of moccasins. Otherwise, he might have been transported to a civilized community at any moment, and still felt that he was in his proper place. “ How was it you came to enter this place?” inquired the hunter. “I thought no one else knowed anything about it.” “ How was it that you discovered it?" “ Why I stumbled on to it without making any search.” “And thus did I. I saw nothing of it until I directly confronted it.” “ Even then it would take a woodman to find out what it was.” “And have I not wandered in the woods long enough to be called a woodman!” “I s’pose you have, but didn't you notice any signs about, showing that some one else had been there before you?” “It was growing dark when I entered, but I remember the thought crossed my mind that it was most likely claimed by some one else.” “And you come on, and went to snoozing, just the same as ever; never once thinkin’ but what, there might be red«skins or enemies in- side. “ I have no enemies, Basi .” This quiet remark somewhat stunned the woodman, who was hardly prepared for it. “ Shoot me, if I believe you have any enemies, andI don’t think there is another man in «the Canadas or colonies who can an the same.” “ There are plenty. Did we all ve up to the ’Fho might I . divine injunction, of lovin our neighbor as our- self. there would be noneo this dreadful enmity that drenchee our land in blood.” Basil Veghto was receiving instruction such as he had never heard before. The idea of perfect brotherhood among men was one that had rarely if ever entered his mind. His life had not been such as to foster the belief if he had ever entertained it. “ That may be so; but, how about Injins?” “ Why do you ask that question! if they have a different colored skin from us, shr uld it debar them from any of the rights that we claim? Have they not souls?” “ I didn’t know it. I’ve always looked upon them asa set of wild animals that hadn’t any business any way in living in America." “What a sad idea, but the same that thou- sands have entertained who should know far more than you! The are poor, ignorant heathens it is true, but but makes our duty to them all the greater.” “ Wal, I can say I never shot a red-skin that I didn’t have to, to save my own top-knot. When they burnt Presq' Isle over our heads, my rifle did good sarvice, as it had done afore, and is likely to do again. I don’t like lnjins—that‘s a fact.‘ “ Do you dislike them all?” “ Can‘t be] it. I was born so.” “ Not all, am thinking,” remarked the priest, with a peculiar intonation thatsurprised the hunter. “ Why do you say that?” “ Do you dislike all ihe females that belongto their tribe?“ Ah! Basil Veghte now understood his mean- ing. He was referring to the beautiful Maria- no, the heroine of the M) sterious Cancel But, how came he to know anything about it? Who besides themselves (excepting Horace Johnson perhaps) knew the secret! he simple-hearted man was at a loss for a reply, until his kind- hearted visitor came to his re ief. “ I have known Mariano through all herlife. Iassisted at her birth and baptined her when an infant. That Ottawa, Balkblalk, who claimed to be her father, and who she believed was such, was no relative of hers. There is none of her blood living.” “ Who is she?.” inquired the hunter, betraying the most absorbing interest in his manner. “ Her father was a brave, handsome half- breed, who went- on a war-expedition just before her birth, and never returned. Her mother was partly white, who died in giving her birth. The Ottawa took her in his lid 6! and adopted her, and she always believed fin to be her father. They were such anti odes that one who knew nothing of them, mig t well doubt their relationship. ’ “Women is queer things." “She seemed ever to entertain a friend] feel- ing toward the whites, even when the stri e was waged with the greatest fury. There are many things that she did during the war, which, if I chose to reveal, would insure her dESII uciion at once, by those who are now her most cherished friends." . “Tell me some of them,” impulsively ex- claimed the hunter. “1 can never make them known.” “ But you needn’t fear anything from me.” “I suppose not; I know that you entertain the best of feelings toward her; but it vi ould not be rudent to reveal them even to you.” he tone in which this remark was made could not give any oifense, but it seemed to go through and through the simple-hearted hunter. Father Jonois’s many ears’ labor among the Indians had given him a pater- nal air in addressing people, which was kind and tpleasing even to the rude borderer. One elt a sort of reverence ‘in conversing with him, and received the most nnwholesomo truths as a dutiful child would receive an admonition from a father. Basil Veghte, conscious that beyond question the prii st knew more than an ope living regarding the bein that absorbs al his tlvoughts, could but fee the deepest interest in the man, and all that he uttered. It seemed to him that he would have given any thing, could be but clear up the mys- tery that hung over the girl’s life ;‘ yet his earn— est questions had been quietly cast back, and he was at a loss what further to say. "‘ You have long felt an interest in Mariano," remarked the priest. “How do you know I have?” Father Jonois indulged in a uiet laugh. “I did not seek to know it; iatcame to me in such a way that I could not avoid observing “Yes,” sighed the weary Veghte. “Women is queer things—I can’t at her out of my thoughts. I don’t know w at is going to ’com. of me. I ain’t good for nothin’ any more.” " All very natural, when a young man II in 4 Mariano, the Ottawa Girl. love. I’ve seen the same thing, hundreds of times before. But it will Come right in the end. Now, Basil Veghte,” continued the priest, in a solemn tone, “ I have long wished this oppor- tunity to speak to 1you. I have some serious questions to ask. n the first place, do you real] ' love this girl, Mariano?" “ don’t know much about late, as it never troubled me till I met her. But, if it is love to think of nothin’ but her, to dream about her, to see her walking in the woods all times of day, and to hear her voice, when I don’t expect any noise at allz—if that is love, then I guess I’ve got it.” “ There is no doubt about that matter.” This remark, made in alight manner, was followed by a few minutes’ silence, when Father J onois spoke. “You are not certain how she feels toward you—there lies the diificulty. Is not that the difliculty ?” “ I’m afraid it’s exactly so.” “Have you eyer spoken with her about it? Come, do not be afraid to trust me—I may be able to afford you more assistance than you think.” “ Yes—I have said a, few words.” “ Give me‘the particulars.” Basil Veghte thereupon related what took place at his memorable interview with Mariano upon the shore of Lake Erie. The priest lis- tened attentively, and when he had finished, asked: “ How long ago was this?” “ The best part of two years.” “Ah!—” A whole volume was comprehend- ed in that exclamation. It told unmistakably that the occasion which had brought it forth, was the clearing up of a mystery that was rest- ing upon the mind of Father Jonois. It said, in sooth, “Every thing is explained; I under— stand.” The priest now-bummed for a few mo meats a monotonous chant, as if he were men- tally turning over some subject. “My friend, you can act tell how Mariano feels toward you. She refused you two years ago, but since then she has had abundant op- portunity to change her mind.” The woodman started. His first exclamation was characteristic. “ Women is queer things; I never thought of such a thing.” “Remember, I do not say that she has; I only remarked that such a thing is possible. I see that you know very little if any thing of womankind." “ That‘s true; I was never troubled by them, till this one come across my path.” “Basil,” said the priest, in his kind, fatherly manner, “ you are in a situation where you need advice. Perhaps there is no one better quali- fied to give it than myself. I have but a few words to say to you.” " I’m ready to hear them.” “ You have spent all your life in the woods. Your habits of hunting and solitude have grown to be necessary to your existence—" “ They was once, but I don’t think they are now." “ Should you ever unite yourself to Mariano, it would be your duty to give over your man- ner of living—to become quiet and settled, and to make a good husband and. father." “ I know that.” ' “Can you do it?" “I can do any thing I” said the woodman, with the strongest feeing. “There ain’t noth- in’ that I wouldn’t do for the sake of getting her. _I shall go under, Father Jonois, if she is lost. lt’s only the hope of gettin’ her some time that keeps me alive.” “ You are mistaken, Basil: there was no man yet, that has been killed by love. All survive it “ I know I shouldn’t.” “ You know no such thing. Receive the words of a man who knows far more than you about this matter. You say you could change your way of life. Do you ever feel diflerent? 0 you not doubt sometimes whether you could remaip a quiet settler for the remainder of your eye “ I did at first; but, for more than a yet?- I haven’t. I really want rest and a home ike other men.” “If this feeling is steady, never changing—— and I must believe it to be so after what you have said—then, Basil Veghte, I unbesitatingly advise you to seek out Mariano, and make her your wife.” . “.But, Father Jonois, will she have me?" “I can't say with certainty—but I can give you encouragement. There are some things about this girl that I would like to tell you; it would change your feelings considerably; but the time has not come. I hope soon to see you again, when you Will learn more.” “ Will you see Mariano very soon?" “ I expect to meet her to-morrow.” “Will you—that is—will you—” “ Leave all to me, Basil. I will befriend you. You are certainly willing to trust me. It is now late; I am weary.” No more was said that evening; but Basil Veghte lay awake along time reflecting upon the words of good Father J onois. CHAPTER II. THE BIG CANOE AND THE BIG CALL. He pgssed ii: the htiart of that ancient wood—- Nor paused, till the rocks where a vaulted bed Hail been hewn of old for the kingly dead Arose on his midnight way—Hanna. WHEN the first rays of morning light pierced the lodge of the hunter, Father Jonois arose, and going through his momingjdevotions, bade farewell for the present to is kind-hearted host. The latter expressed regret at his de— parture. “I expect soon to meet you again, when it is probable I shall have somethingtotell you-— something that will deeply interest you." “You’ve got it now, make no doubt, if you was only a mind to tell a feller.” Father Jonois smiled, and, taking his hand, walked rapidly away, in a western dirrction, soon disap aring in the woods. The hunter stood leaning on his rifle and watching the point where he was lost from view for some time. Finally he came to the upright position, with a great sigh. “Women is queer things, and so is priests— ;gpeciall the one that as just gone away. ouldn t I like to hear what'he has got to tell me that is so interesting? Wal, he says he will tell it soon, and 1 hope he will.” It was yet very early in the morning, and, as Ve hte did not wish his morning meal for sev- era hours, he sauntered down to thelake-shore, and occu ied himself in gazing out upon the surface. aturally, at first his eye took the di- rection of the islands; but, as he saw nothing unusual at this point, his glance wandered over the rest of the lake. “Shoot me I” The exclamation was a sort of asp, accom— panied by an involuntary recoil, s owing how unmistakable was the amazement of the hunter. And well mi ht he be surprised; for, out upon Lake Erie. e beheld a most unusual sight. Several miles distant were visible the white sails of some vessel, momentarily growing larger and larger, proving that it was approaching nearer him. It was but a. short distance from shore, and pursuing a course parallel with it. Veghte instantly produced his telescope and adjusted it to his eye. The sight that rewarded this was astonishing and gratifying. The sheet of water that is now covered with all kinds of craft, whose every portion is dotted by the “ white sails of commerce " was, a century since, almost entire] devoid of any boats except the frail canoeso the hunters and In ians. Now and then, at rare intervals, some small vessel had entered the chain of great lakes, and-con- founded the rude men along their border, al- most as much as did the vessels of Columbus. “That’s a whop ing Canoe!” was Veghte’s first exclamation, a ter takin a fair view of it through his instrument. “ ’ve heard of ’em before, but I’ve never see’d many of ’em. I can’t see why they don’t have more of 'em on these lakes. There’s plenty of water to float ’em, I’m sure. Hello!’ As he spoke. a puff of white smoke issued from the side of the vessel, and a moment later the dull boom of a cannon went surging along the shore of the lake, echoing and reverberat- ing in a style that was absolutely awe-inspiring to the listening hunter. There was quite a. swell in the lake, and the hull of the vessel was visible, as she came upon the crest, her bow sometimes risin clear from the water; and et, she glided straight onward, in a manner hat would have elicited admiration, even at this late day. As for Veghte, he was almost speech- less from ver delight. At length he found ut- terance for his thoughts: “There goes another gun! I s’pose the first time might have been an accident; but, when done twice, there’s something meant. I re- member Ensign Christie used the gun at Presq’ Isle, in the evening, as a signal that all was well. At other times, it meant that all wasn’t well. Therefore, I s’pose the firing of that gun means something. It can’t mean that any thing is the matter,”reaumed the hunter, lowering his _ and, at telescope; after a moment's silence, “ for things j look too sleek and nice on board that canoe, or whatever they may call it.” The sloop (for that was the character of the vessel) came bowling along, discharging its bow gun at intervals, which proceeding was unques— tionably meant as a signal for some Lone upon shore. The telescope of the hunter revealed the forms of several persons upon the deck, all seemingly occupied in watching the margin of the lake. At this point, most of the sail was taken in, and the speed of the vessel was greatly diminished. This was another source of wonder and delight to Veghte. “That’s an easy way to save a man from working,” he exclaimed. “No twistin of pad— dles there. Just up with the sail, an off she goes; and down with the sails, and she stops. Strikes me it might be a good thing tofix up one of our canoes, if the wind wasn’t more likely to upset the whole thing than to carry it for- ward." The sloop was now barely moving through the water—just sufficiently, in fact, to obey her rudder, which still kept her parallel with the shore. Veghte fell to speculating as to who could be the object of their search; for, beyond question, they Were looking and expected to see some one. The first name that naturally pre- sented itself to him was that of Father Jonois. Nor was be mistaken; for, as he cast his eyes down the margin of the lake, he saw the priest appear upon a point where he was conspicuous, and then raise his hat and make some signal. It was almost instant] seen on board the sloop, which immediate y directed its course toward him. As it passed by the Lunter,he instinctively shrunk back from view, and scrutinized it with greedy eyes. The dark, low hull; the mast an yards; the bowsprit and carved prow; the man at the wheel, and those standing around him; the sails, cordage and rigging—all these made a picture that was stamped upon the mind of Basil Veghte tohis dying day. Whoever composed the cificers and crew of the sloop, it was manifest they understood sea- manship, forthey managed the boat in a man— ner that could not be excelled. The Wand rounded, and came to anchor only a. few- rods from shore, directly opposite where the priest was standin . A small boat, resembling a canoe, was t en lowered, and guided by two men to his very feet. Before entering, be con— versed with them a few minutes, as if not per- fectly satisfied with the appearance of things. Finally, however, he stepped in, was taken on board the sloop, which immediately hoisted sail, and steered directly up the iake. As motionless as the tree beside him, stood the hunter, his telescope to his eye, and intently watching the sail, until it was but a mere speck, engtb, faded altogether from view in the distance. “That was the strangest animal 1 ever set eyes on,” he muttered, as he turned so ay in quest of his brerkfast. “ Hain't the lnjins (pened their eyes to see it come along the lake? But I guess they didn't gape more than Idid. Wal, I own up, I was astonished puny big. Theyr taking away Father Jonois looks mighty queer; but then, everybody seems to know im, and l s‘pose it’s all right.” Game was too abundant to makea tedious search necessary to seems his morning meal. He had gone but a very short distance when he brought down a wild turkey of great size, and swelled with fat almost to turning. This was soon spitted over a fire, and cooking in a style that could have been little improved by any modern professor of the culinar art. And then the choicest portions—the juicy, tender meat—the rich, 0in fat—these were devoured with an appetite and gusto that knew no dread of indigestion. The hunter had filled himself with enough to last him apparentlya week, and was rubbing his greasy fingers through his hair, when he was startled into a vigorous exclamation by hearing once more the boom of the cannon that had surprised him so greatly a few hours before. Sittin perfectly quiet, until a second report came ro ling heavfl over the water, he sprung to his feet. and me e all haste to the lake. Here he saw, scarce a half-mile away, the identical sloop that had not departed from his imagina— tion for the last hour. She was heading straight in toward shore, and the woodman felt a momentary fear that she was going to run upon the sand. He even glanced around him to make sure that he had a safe line of retreat in case of such diraster. . When yet a goodly distance from shore, how- ever, the sloop rounded to, gracefully. and again discharged her bow-gun. Shortly after, ?. Mariano, the Ottawa Girl. 5 she took in sail, and continued approaching, in a coy and cautious manner, as it fearful of the danger that lurked there. _ All this time, Basil Veghte was crouched behind the trunk of a tree. He had no need of using his telescope, for every movement upon the deck of the sloop was plainly v151ble. He saw Father Jonois standing near the stern, so close th t he could detect a nervous, flickering motion 0 the eyes, peculiar to him. The mean- ingot all this maneuvering Wnsa mystery to the hunter. He could not understand what could bringthis strange craft upon this portion of Lake Erie. Wh had Father Jonois been taken on board? as not the whole thing a French contrivanoe to injure the English? Such and similar were the questions that Yeghte proposed to himself as he stood and scrutinized every movement of the sloop and its crew. It never once entered his head that he might be the identical erson for whom they Were seeking. Had he nown that such was the case, the probabilities are that he would have given them all a much wider berth. Our hero was surveying the vessel in that eager, absorbed manner that allows no object to escape its scrutiny, when his gaze was arrested b the sight of an elderly man dressed in the uni orm of an ofilcer. Rather curiously, he did not observe him, until he saw him pacing across the deck with his arms folded behind him, and his head bent as m deep reverie. Whether he had just emerged from' the cabin, or whether he had been on'deck from the begin- ning, it was impossible to say: but it the latter were the case, it was dimcult to understand hovv he had escaped observation so long. ,There was something in the appearance of this man that arrested and held the attention of the woodman. He had seen and been associated with British officers often from his peculiar cmgiloyrent, upon the most intimate terms- bn he had never encountered one who impressed him so strongly as did the soldier in question.‘ What his precxae rank was, it was impossible to tell, as he were no insignia whereby it could be determined: but,Veghte set him down as an officer very high in the service. Whoever the man might be, it was evident to whomscmver saw him, that he was every inch a soldier. His carriage, his manner, his appear- ance—everythin bespoke the stern warrior, and the hero 0 many an eventful fight. He was very thin, almost to emaciation, with an aquiline nose, red face, and hair of silvery whiteness. Straight as an arrow, with a step that was as firm and self-confident as the trend of a lion, a keen gray eye that glittered with metallic brightness, and that never quailed, but looked you unwaveringly in the face, such were the noticeable points of the ofllccr that paced the deck of the sloo “ Smnkx.” The speed of the vesse gradually slackened, until, as sb‘e rounded to, and an uchor was dropped. she became perfectly qule ant. Then Veghte noticed that the: were making prepara- tions for discharging t e gun once more. By accident, its muzzle was turned directly toward the spot where bestood. This occasioned con- siderablfperturbatiou upon his art. “Shoot me!" he muttered, “i I don’t believe they’re going toshoot me! That thing carries a big ball, and I ain’t sure whether it will go throu h this tree or not it it‘sbould hit it.’ If I star to run, it might overtake me, More I go much further. Howsumever, I gitess I’ll take it." He shut his eyes, as the piece was discharged, confidently expecting a crashing broadside that might almost annihi ate him. t is needless to any, that the blank cartridge did not so much even as raise a breeze in hisimmediate'nelgh- borhood. The hunter even smiled at his own timidity, in attempting to avoid what, a mo- ment's reflection convinced him, was entirely harmless. With the flash of the a, came an squall sudden illumination of gall V hte’s min . Did not every thin indicate at out that be was the man (or w cm the were oearchin 7 What other reasonable exp auction could. oil-red of their conduct! And what meant Father Jonoxs’s earnest scrutiny of the woods, if it w»: noban efl'oruo discover himself! ‘1! any doubts remained in the mind of the hunter. they were let at rest b the t, who, in a clear resoundmzvoiea, on the name of Basil v’ an. Tbclnttcreven thwheaitatcd a moment; t, callian mind the character of Fatim- Jonoil, he stopped and “announced “Wmorni th orbit were immedl tel e as .6 a direct-Symon him. and “eminence: were instantly lowered, and approached the spot where he stood. He purposely refrained from entering until he could exchange a few words with them. “Have you been lookin’ for me?” . “Yes; that we have," was the reply,‘in broad Scotch accent. “ What do you want with me?" , “Lorry! we don’t want nothin’; it’s the gen- eral that sent us looking for you.” “ And what general might be be?" “ General Montvere is the name he goes by, but whether that is his real name or not, we can‘t say,”lwas replied in a half—whisper and a furtive glance toward the sloop, as if fearful of the vengeance of the oiiicer, with Whose name they were taking such liberties. “ What does he want with me?” “ Lorry, you’ll have to ex him; what does we know about it? He didn’t tell us nothing about it." “How did you know where to look for me?” “ Father Jonois told us.” “And how did you know where to look for him?“ . ' “ We didn’t; we had to hunt. Didn’t you hear us firing our gun? Tours to me you’re axing me a lot of questions." “ ll ax as many as I darned please,” replied Veghte, who had grown to hold quite an ex. alted idea of his own importance. “ And if you ain’t a mind to answer me, why, I’ll stay on shore—that’s all.” ’ “ S‘posen’ we can‘t answer ‘eml” " Then you needn’t, that’s all ag’in.” The men waited a few minutes longer, while our hero leisurely surve ed the sloop and its living frei ht, and the atter scrutinized him with consi arable interest. Finally, he stepped deliberately in the canoe, eon was paddled to the sloop, and received on board. CHAPTER III. VEGHTE as GUIDE. \ Let tléem come with the pipe; we will tread it to ‘13 y And our arrows of war shall ne‘er molder with we ' ‘ Let thgm home with their hosts; to the desert. we’ll ee, And the drought and the famine our helpers shall lye—PIKE. As Basil Veghte came upon the deck of the sloop, he was me! by Father Jonois, who tool: him by the hand, and received him with great corlliality. “You may think this strange. Basil, but we have use for you. It is you for whom we were searching." . “ What do you want of me?” ~ “ It is not I exactly, but General Montvere, who has just gone into the cabin, that Wishes to see you. Why did you delay so long in coming on board?" , “ The fact was,” said the hunter, lowering his voice, “I didn’t like the look of things. If it hadn’t been that I saw you, they Wouldn’t havo ot me at all.” “ on need hava no fears. The general is an honorable man, and will treat you as such. I will go with you into the cabin. Come along, and fear nothing." “ Oh! I ain’t scared,” muttered Veghta, as be followed the good lather. Arriving in the 'cabin, which was a commodioua apartment, considering the size 0! the sloop, they found the Suez-cl seated at a table, engaged in writing. e did not look up as the two entered, and the latter quietly took their seats. At this moment, Veghte caught the rustle of garments in the father compartment, which was separated from the one t ey Occupied by curtains only, and looked inquirineg to the priest for an explana- tion. The latter morer motioned for him to await his time with patience, and he would be satisfied. Suddenly the general looked up. “ Is this the man. Father Jonozsl" “This is Basil Veghte, whom I ventured to recommend to you for the duty aired.” “ You were , reverend tat r. to speak £913.53th 0 him. I am glad to meet you, a ".All right." responded the woodman, with some embarrassment. “ The same to you.” “ I learn that have nite a reputation as a aco’ut. You id no service during the war. “ You mean the English, l s’poul” “ Precisely,” smiled the cflcer. . “ Will, I make notion!» I did do aleetle for “That sounds right; I’m glad to hearryou speak so. You were with Ensign Christie, be— lieve 'when Presq’ Isle was taken?” es. “ Christie was a brave fellow. He served an- der the twenty years ago, when but a mere boy. I‘m pleased to learn that some doubt that was thrown upon the propriety of his conduct has been cleared up. I am rejoiced to bear it, Isay.” “All right.’ - “My friend," resumed General Montvere, speaking' in a very pleasant manner, "I in- duced Father Jonois to help us to obtain your services, because I had great faith in your honesty and ability. The duty that 1 require is this: I am anxious to get to Montreal, which you know was captured a few years since by us. We can go a considerable distance up Grand river in our sloop. At the western ex- tremity of Ontario, another vessel is waiting for me. I wish to engage you as a guide over the land intervening between Grand river and that point." “ We can do that easy enough; I’ve been over the same ground afore. ’ “But, I have my daughter with me, and you see it is going to be a severe and trying task to her. Nothing but the most imperative neces- sity, from which there is no escape, would in- duce me to undertake it. But it must be done I must be in Montreal just as soon as it is possi- ble for me to get there, and she must go with me. Can I engage you as guide for the dis- tance mentioned?’ Basil Veghte hesitated a few moments before replying. To tell the truth, he did not exactly tune the proposition that had been made. It won (1 necessitate a week’s absence at least. dur- ing which he must necessarily hear and know nothingregarding Mariano. And in that inter— , val, there was no telling what evil might befall her. The name of Horace Johnson prweuted itself, and he could not shake of! adreadof m l . 3 I Still Basil Veghte’s common cause told him that a tramp like this would do him good. It was now some time since he had been upon such service, and he reall feared he would be come useless if he remained idle much longer. In the woods, where the safety of others com~ polled him to keep his wits constantly about him he could but have them sharpened. ‘ “ ou hesitate,” remarked General Mont— vere. “ If unwilling, do not do it We will putl y’ou ashore this minute, if such is your W18 1. “Let me advise you to go,” interposed Father Jonois, who was not pleased with this hesitation. “ I’ll do it,” said Veghte, impressively. “I am glad to hear you say that," said the general, heartily, “It will neverbe a some. of regret to you. You shall receive more/gold than you ever looked upon,before." * This ofler of liberal compensation neversonnd- ed so pleasantly to the hunter as upon this oc- casion. He might he: (1 it. as he had mer- yet needed it! Reaching Ontario. and receivinghis reward. he would instantly set out upon blue turn, search out Mariano—ah! what then? At any rate, the possession of the gold could be of no harm to him—and there was nooonjectnring what benefit it might be. “I wish you not as a guide only,” remarked the oflicer, “ Lut ym know that the forest through which we must as abounds with danger. t is a segue tria to me, to be com- pelled to he my aughter with me, but I have already told you there is no avoiding it. Your skill in the ways of the. woods and the built: of the savages, will be of great value to us. It is for that, as much as any thing, that I wish to secure them." i. “ All right,” Veghte found voice to reply. “It is not a long tramp, in it!" remarked Father Jonnis. “’Tia for a woman; women, you know, is queer things.” “ You will not and Mix Kontvore unie ." led the priest in a sort of apologe tone. “ a is a youn lady not much accustomed to the hardships o a forest life, and you therefor. understand the greater need {or skill inch. Bu‘l‘df that the general seeks.” not so; I " At this warm, the curtains parted and lb Montevere entered. Her father instantly intro- duced the woodman to her. chhto 'n a fid-natured nod, and kept his seat. was tho v bowed very coldly without snail His: Honivore was a tall, dignified , with the same Rama- nouns and aristocratic air that mmfiygu’m them, but no mm’n I’m willing to do ag’in.” lShcwu handsome, but it was: queenly beauty, ‘ oddl ‘ ton'ished woodman. though I won’t get mad if you call me Basil now r and then.” ' Sign 'deck. The latter did so, and the two Walked to 15:11 have the honor of mediating him and his v daughter throng: the wilderness. You may u 6 that knew its own value, and that sought no vulgar admiration. She seated herself near her father, and the latter said: “ Miss Madeline, this is the man that I have enga ed to conduct us to Ontario. He is recom- men ed very highly by Father Jonois, and I make no doubt we shall find his services invalu- ab e. Miss Montvere sli htly inclined her head, as if to signify her wil ingness that such a result should be obtained and the general added: “You know it is going tohea journe not unattended with some danger. We shoul con- sider ourselves fortunate therefore in having secured so valuable a man as Mr. Veghte.” An almost imperceptible inclination might have been taken also as assent to this proposi- tion. The words, “Mr. Veghte," struck so upon the ear of the hunter, that he in: stun y observed: “ General, I s’pose it would be just as easy to leave 01! that handle of my name, when you. spake, and it would be more ’greeable to my feelin’s if you’d do so.” The two men in the cabin smiled, while Miss Montvete looked as if she did not comprehend what had been uttered. “ What appellation do you prefer—what name is your choice?” _ ‘Veghte is the one I’ve owned the longest, “ You shall be addressed in the future in that manner.” Miss Montvere, bowing to her audience, dis- appeared in the other compartment, without Iexxlghgnging a word with her father. The letter e . “I believe every thing is arranged, Veghte.‘ We expect to reach our landingplace gt an earl. hour to-morrow morning, I believe. . ith this remark, the officer took up his pen,, and Father, J onois, accepting the hint, arose and ifled ,for the woo mien to follow him on the stern, where they might converse without disturbance. . “ What do you think of the general?” inquired the priest. ‘ “Don’t know hardly what to think. He seems clever enough; and yet he ain’t one of them grid of.i Top you could punch under the ribs aiid cw t . a ‘ “ Herd! y; I would not advise you to attempt such a procee ling with him.” “But that gal—there! get outl Did you ever see the like?” Fa ther Jonois could not avoid smiling at the earnestness of his friend. - “ W hat is there so peculiar about her?" ‘.‘If she won’t show any man; that woman is queer thin , then I’ll give 'u . I thought she couldn’t to s at first. thin it must hurt her when she speaks." ' “Why so?" i " Why she seems to hate to do it, sev'uch. mold man. has e ough to say, if he is kind of INS. and doesn’t ll e to laugh; but the! there’s ‘ in 1gutting anything out of her." e woodman at this juncture indulged in a You? heart though silent laugh. ' ‘ I’m th nking, ’ said he, by way of explana- flan, “ that 'wbeu we tramp the woods, she’ll have a little of that polishmbbed on." “I‘trust we shall not be molested,” gravely returned the good tether. . “ Wei Are you going with us?” asked the as- v “I expect to hes» on company forahun- fired or more miles? y'fhere is a village on a‘gteprthern shore of Ontario. that I must “I’m glad to hear the“ can tell you. The more of us the better.” ' “General Montvere has been searching for me levers! days, for the purpose of acting as ide to him and his daughter on their way to tread. He reached the town which I left . esterday, and when told that I had started for finnrio,'he cruised along the shore. firing his gun. as a signal." - ' , “There are plenty others who know the way to Montreal.” ' "Yes; but he is very particular as to who depend upon it t you will be bountifull re- " ndld ’t,’ where his id rf A»? n on go as ' e “I. e oompitent. but I thoughtxnmy time he moreprohtahl spent. Minted, l ' the new that on were nine my superior that someone that in theend—hewouldbsbmsr Mariano, the Ottawa Girl. Satisfied with you; and so it happens that you 'are the man.” ‘ “ Who is he, and what does he went to get to Montreal in such a hurry for l" “ He has very'important business there. You know Montreal is a British post, and it is prob— ably on military matters that he is called thither.” “ Have you ever seen him before?” “ I saw him in Europe forty years ago. He was then a lieutenant. Ila stands very high in the favor of the British Government, and of course he thinks a great deal of his honor. No den er would hinder him from attemptingl to reac Montreal, if the crown called im thither.” “ But how in the name of common sense did he come tohave that gel with him?”- “I don’t precisely understand how that came about. The general has never told me. You mustn’t be too free, Basil, in questioning him. It has been his custom to. command for years, and be may become impatient.” “All right; i won‘t ’sturb him. If he lets me alone, I won bother him." “He knows his place—but, Basil,” added Father J onois, changing his manner of address, “ this is going to deprive you for some time of rivi ego of seeing Mariano.” “ know; that’s whatmade me hesitate. You said you ex cted to see her ay." “ So I di ; but of course I h vs no expecta- tion of that at present.” “How could that be, when you started for Ontario this morning?” “ Because Mariano goes in the same direc- tion, also." Veghte’s open mouth and staring eyes sirloiwed his nmszeyent. The priest hastened to ac : “I must beg, Basil, that you refrain from questioning me for the present. The time, I trust, will soon come when 1 can explain every thing. So, abide in content until then.” The woodman was half-tempted to become impatie t at the manner of the good priest. He could no understand the necessity for this con— tinual mystifying about Mariano. His thoughts being almost exclusively regarding her, he nat— ural y felt the most absorbing sympathyin any- thihg relating to her movements. There was mystery hanging around her, itis true, and this ersistent refusal to clear it up was hard to or. But it was Father Jonois who was tor- turing him; therefore it could avail nothing to call in question his procedure, or to manifest displeasure at it. . “ Howsumever, Father J onois—” “ Heigho! what’s the matter now?” inter— rupted the priest, as some excitement became manifest among several men. “They’re looking at- something over the lake," replied the woodman, gazing in the same direction. Calling to mind his telescope, he immediawa produced it. Amoment’s glance of hi keen e e satisfied him. “ hat is tl” queried the priest. “ A canoe.” “How man are in it?” , “ One," re led Veghte, endeavoring to sup- press his fee ings. The two men looked in each other’s faces, and then the woodman, vainlfv trying to keep down his emotion, readjusted h s instrument. A moment later, he drew a great sigh of relief. , ., “ It ain’t her; it’s a ma ” “I ,sm glad of that. Is he going out on the lake? . “He seems to Want to cross our course. I think he has some idea of coming on board.” “ 1 sho ldn’t think an Injin would do that,” remarks one of the bystanders, approaching close to the two men. , _ “ Maybe he isn’t an Injin,” returned Veghte; “ 8‘ he’s a white man." . " didn’t know the used canoes.” “ Humphl you on’t know much, then. Didn’t you come out after me in a canoe?" "We had oars, though, avid we'd had a boat of the reg’lar sort if we hadn’t lost it the other might." - At this juncture, the occupant of the canon was seen to rise, and make some si no]. He doubtless wishedto be taken on beer ; and, as there could be no lplausible objection, sail was taken in that be m ght be given an opportunity. The canoe kept directly in the path of the sloop, and the latter in a short time reached it. r hen a few hundred yards distant, 'Veghte uttered an exolamation, and turned to Father Jonois. ‘ - - “ Do you know who that man is?" “ {haven’t noticed. Who is he?” “ Johnson.” ‘ The priest manifested as much surprise al- most as the hunter. “What has induced him to come out and board the sloop?” “ 0h, Heaven knows; I don"t.” . Shortly after, the individual in question came clambermg upon deck. , “ How are you, Father Jonois? How are you, .Basili We meet under little diflerent circum- stances, eh ?” “ What brings you here i" inquir Father Jonois, rather coldly. and guessin as how this boat was going in the same direc ion, I thought I might as well ride part of the way as not!" _ CHAPTER IV. NIGHT on rm: INLAND sea. Some say that they could die on the salt, salt seal (But have they been loved on land 1) Some rave of the oer-an in drunken glee— _ 0f the music born on a sty morn W11? the tempest is w ing and the blllows are reakin , And lightnigg flashing, and the thick rain dashing, And‘ the winds and the thunders shout forth the sea 8 William ' l d i be no t gs may ve by .0 u ream ng y— But for me—I “fill in e my stand 0n land. on land) Forever and ever on solid land—P300103. IGNORANCE and suspicion go hand in hand; and among all the uneducated classes, there are probably none who entertain more persistently a su rstitious idea, when once settled in the min , than those men who spend their lives in the American wilderness. The religion of the savage is made up of superstition, and that oi: his hardly less savage white companion is mubh the same. V Basil Veghte was no excsption to this class. Some of the crude belief that befogged his mind, if fairly brought ’to light, would have zap-- peered absurd in the highest degree. Thus, Mariano, would not stand for a moment the test of reason. _ Among other vagaries, he held a sort of half— suspicion that Horace Johnson was his evil gen» ins—a man who was to annoy and cross him in every way imaginable. From the time he had erk-ountered him in the woods, in that awful DeCember storm, it seemed as if he were nevor to be entirely free from him. And now,,‘when about to engage upon an expedition of peril, at the critical moment the man comes upon the scene. The hunter, as he afterward expressed it, " felt in his very bones.” that that man was to take a prominent part in that contemplated journey to Montreal. Mixed with his superstitions, was a moiety of reason. Whatever might be the destined part Horace Johnson was to act, it was certain he was no p out against a rifle bullet; and the woodman metimes looked at the long formid« able rifle held in his right hand, and at the man, in a way that suggested very plainly what were his thoughts. . Both ,Veghte and Father Jonois felt a sinking of the heart when the men came u the duo of the sloop. The former seeme to feel that. in the part Johnson was to play, there was to be something evil—somethin producing a colli- sion between them—s coll on; too, that would be fraught with sorrow. Father Jonois, who knew more of him than any person living, who knew the dark heart that beat beneath so calm an exterior, and under— stood the man,” the latter did not believe any man understood him, could but foretell what was likely to come of this uncongenisl compen- ionship. Had he saspecled that it was Johnson in the canoe, when first seen, he would have ad— vised the crew to pass on withont picking, him up; but it was now too‘lete, and our two friends therefore could do nothing less than put the best face possible on the matter. There.wss en a amce of cordialit in the manner of John which prepossessed t 9 crew‘ in his favor. Only these two, Who understood what it meant.» refused to be entirely conciliated. Had Father Jonois chosen to tell how be bad striven and toiled with this man, and how the result of his eilort was 0 1y a more unmistaka— ble‘ revelation of the b ck hypocrisy of his heart~hed he told this, we say—the‘reoep'tion of him/Horace Johnson, would have been far difi'erenb from what it was. Father Jonois and Veghte retired to the stern of the sloop, close to the men who was steering. and began conversing in low tones. , “ You are gain t have another coronation, ton your wpy llantreal,” observed the former. i ‘. l “ Wal, you see, I was on my way to Montreal,. many of his thoughts regarding the Indian girl, ’ .E r; . l l ‘Ihwld Mariano, the Ottawa Girl. “ Yes, and I believe I’d rather see Satan, him“ self come on board, than that man.” “There is much evil in his heart. But, you have one consolation, Busd,“ remarked the priest, smilingin a significant manner. “ What’s that!" . ' “ While he is with you,he cannot disturb Mariano.” "Does he bother her new!” asked the wood- man, and fearful his question would not be an- swered he hastened to add :I “ If you can‘t tell me that, don’t say any thing more about him.” “ He is more dreaded—and with good reason, too—by her than she dreads any other person. She seems never to be free from her fear re- garding him.” I The manner in which Basil glanced at the subject; of these remarks, undoubtedly would have made that man himself slightly uneasy, had he observed it; but Johnson was too much occupied with making himself agreeable to the crew of the sloop to notice either of his two friends. _ ' , “Do not bear unjuat enmity toward him,” said Father Jonois, whose keen eye took in the slightest indication of feeling. “ He may not seek to harm you.” ‘ “He may not,” said the hunter, in a sneering manner, looking at Johns in as bespoke; “ but, if he don’t, it will be because he hain’t got the chance; he's tried the same thing afore. How- sumever, it’s a business that I’ll have something to do with.” The two conversed together awhile longer— Father Jonois endeavoriug to soothe the excite- ment of the woodman,’who seemed on the p our. several times of opening hostilities. He even proposed that he should make an excuse for quarreling with Johnson, in order that he might throw him overboard. The priest advised him to do and say nothing that should betray the least enmity toward him; to accept of him as a companion to Montreal, but to watch eVery movement, and when sure of treachery upon his part-then he might talk of punishment. , ' “ If you are vi 'leut, I cannot see how he can harm you. on are surely superior to him in woodcraft, and you ought never to give him the opportunity to harm you. If such an op- portunity comes, it will be through your own remissness. Take care that it does not.” “ There‘ll be the general and the gal with us, you see.” . “ Their presence Will be an additional protec— tion Ithink.” "bon’t know; they’re both, English, and he has always acted with the French. That was themay he done at Presq’ Isle." “Yes; but he has a great admiration for ladies, and I doubt not that the presence of Miss Montvere will restrain him from any open evil in her presence. He can but see that you are necessary to their safet , and he cannot wish to harm her, no matter w at his feelings may be toward toe general or toward you.” Ere Veghte could make a reply, Johnson, smiling and self-possessed, came toward them. “ I hear you are going to Montreal, and it gives me great pleasure to bear it, too.” C‘ so ' “’Cause asltold you I am going that wa myself, aid will be glild to keep you corny— n .” . pa“lf it had been me, I’d wait till was axed,” remarked the woodman, entirely disregarding a better of mens that was leveled ag nst him by Fa” er Jonois. “ Yas, sir, I’d wai ill I was ax ed. “ Veghte will joke,” laughed Johnson to Father Jonois. as if tosigni y that allowance he made for the vagaries of such a man. “ yet often; he is more inclined to be seri~ 5. The lnterlo r remained by the two men a few moments onger. and then sauntered away and .joined a man, a few yards distant. They conversed so earnestly together, and for en h a length of time, thatjhe woodman believed em to be old acquaintances. . t In the courseol‘ an hour or :0, General Mont- vere came on. deck, and, beckoned to Father Jonois. As the latter came up, he took his arm. and the two retired to a point where they were not likely to be overheard. The woodman could not avoid noticing that the British emcer glanced occasionally toward Harm Johnson, zed; than toward himself, so that he believed be h; good reason tows “list be, as well as disagreeable compan was the subject at wry and comment. in , , as pleasant dinner was rtaken of in fig noble, and succeedingmpafion of the \ day passed away much as the preceding. Miss Montvere never once showed herself on deck, and the general spent most of his timevbelo'w. Be possessed an immense amount of papers, which occupied the most of his time, requiring often the additional assistance of his daughter. Occasionally be consulted with Father Jonois for a few minutes, but be avoided all communi— cation with Johnson. The‘latter made several attempts to approach him, but was received with a chilly haughtiness, which repelled even the assurance that he possessed. Father Jonois and Basil Veghte spent a great portion of the day in each oxher’s society. The former believed that all his influence was neces~ sary to prevent a collision between the wood- man and Johnson. The dislike of the former appeared to increase, until there was danger of its breaking out at an moment. The good father succeeded finally in obtaining his prom- ise not to attempt an violence until there was an unmistakable evi ence of evil intention upon the part of the suspected man. As we have already hinted, none knew so much regarding Johnson as the priest himself. It was this intimate knowledge of his character that made him foresee the danger ahead. So deeply impressed was be with it, that he seri- ously meditath requesting the man to leave the sloop, inting to him the peril he incurred by makiu one of a party with Veghte. It may as wel be stated, also, that Father J onois‘s un- expressed belief was that the man had, by some means incomprehensible to him, learned of the contemplated journey of the party to Montreal, and that,‘for some purpose of his own, be de« sired to accompany them. There were grave suspicions troubling the mind of the good man. but he shared them with no one. Basil Veghte would have been the last man to whom he would have given them, but he deemed it his duty to lace him on his guard, and he had already one so, in a manner that be deemed allsufl‘icient. Tue “ Spitfire " had had a taste of a storm on Luke Erie, and came very iienrgoing iothe bot tom of that sheet of water, which is so terrible when aroused. The captain, therefore, surveyed the heavens with great anxiety as they bowled rapidly along toward the St. ,ary‘s. It was with great apprehension that he read in the sky the omens of a gathering storm. He sheer- ed oil! from shore until he was over a mile dis— tant, and then crowded all sail, for he, too, had important reasons for wishing to be at his journcy‘s end. It was late in the season, and he knew that, if the storm did burst upon him, he would be in far more peril than if out on the stormy Atlantic. The anxiety of Captain Ham ton was shared by those around him. Genera Montvere said nothing of his fears, but all knew that his solici- tude was regarding his daughter. For himself, he had faced danger and death too often for their pressnce now to make a single pulse throb. He would have none to the bottom as uncon- cernedlyashe priced the deck if the moment should come. But for Madeline, his only child— she who was a fuc-simile of himself in so many respects-for her he could but feel a parents anxiety. He bitterly regretted in his own heart the dire necessity which compefl d her to be one of the party, and there was no sacrifice her safet, might demand that he did not resolve shou d be made. , As for Veghte, he, too. felt unpleasanin un- easy. It was that feeling which comes over a brave man when he realiz s be is placed at a disadvantage. The element, of the guide was the wilderness; in thathe was ready to combat anything—storm. exposure, enmity, treachery —he could willingly meet them all. But on the lake, his peculiar power: could have no play. He was cramped and confused, and, when the storm should come, he was depriVed of all ability to strive with it. A thousand times rather would he have been in his frail canoe. ' The sloop was an outlandish contrivance at the best, and be anxiously looked for the time when he might place his feet once more on te-N‘afirma. Threadin his Wei/through the maze of a, Canadian wil erpess..on the look-out for lndisnfienmity without, and white treachery within, this was the prospect contemplated by Veghte. in somewhat the same manner that one contemplates his return to a cherished duty af- ter being long absent from it. . . We need not attempt, therefore, to depictthe relief experienced by all on» board the sloop when the ominous appearance of‘ the heavens changed, and the threatened storm passed over. There was a deep ai h of gratitude from every one, and most felt ll e congratulating each other I night of undisturbed slumber. 7 upon being delivered from an imminently threat- ening danger. As the night settled over the lake, the v hole heavens became clear, and the moon, nearly at the full, shed a light which illuminated the water for a great distance around the little craft. Most of the sail was taken in, but enough was kept up to keep the vessel under moderate headway. Late in the evening Miss Montvere made her appearance upon deck, and taking the arm of her father, the two paced slowly backward and forward, conversing in a low tone, and co— casionally stopping to admire the impressive scenery around them. Night on Lake Erie a century ago! . The sul- len wash of the restless waves upon the desolate shore; the interminable line of wilderness which inclosed this inland sea: the subdued moan which forever came from both; all these, united with the consrionsness that they were in a vast solitude, where almost every human being was an enemy, impressed even the iron heart of General Montvere. A hush fell upon all, and when words were uttered they were brief and subdued, as if all realized they were standing in the presence of a great overshadowing power. Horace Johnson seemed determined to at- tract the attemion of Miss Montvere. He in— truded himself in her way until the general noticed it, and demanded, in aloud voice, what he meant. He thereupon made a Very bumble apology and slunk away without having drawn a word from the lady. v It struck the woodman that the object of the officer and his daughter in pacing the deck was to tire themselvas ( ut that they might enjoy a Fille with this idea, he remarked, as they came up to where he was standing, and were about to turn away again: - f “ A good plan, gineral; a good plane—a sure way to get a good night’s rest. When I want to snooze comfortable, i sit up three or four nights: then l’m sure to do it. If you walk all night, you won’t need to do it~1o~morrow Mzht.” I “ We are not doing it for that, Basil Neither of us have any trouble in resting at night. But the evening is moonlight; it is not cold, and we find it pleasant.” ' This answer was made by Miss Madeline Montvere, and it came near knocking the wood- man clean over. He fairly started as ifa thun~ derbolt had burst at his feet. Then, as they turned away, he muttered: “ Women is queer things, you ma shoot me if they ain’t!” He was so amazed. in fact, that he an sled to Fa~ ther Jonois for an explanation. . latter told him very pleasantly, that he would, find Miss Montvere a very agreeable woman; that it was not singular she should have stopped to address him. great many ladies, beyond quvstion, would have done the same thing. “ It’s too deep for me. I can’t understand it,” he mutterEd, as he returned to his position. moment later, General Montvere approached and the two aused and conversed for fully han an hour wit their guide. The daughter-.31;- pecially, was ver pleasant, and the woodman was fairly dazzle by her brilliance and beauty. When finally the blade him ' goodnight, and re- tired to the cabin, he was resolved that he would brave Indians, perils. suflerinlg, treach- ery, death—any thing for her sake. t was not love, but a chivalrous devoi ion that he felt for one who, it seemed, had been so kind to him, And she was of the as me sex as Mariano! ' CHAPTER V. THE EXTINGUIBHED FIRE. The second was a renegade crew, ' . Who am and dresses Christian nation: . Ledb achief whoborethenratcorm ; A bol invader of Mnatlve land—Du. Yovlauwn. THE beautiful moonll lit mshtfie sive scenery of Lake eukept mod: friends n n deck until a late hour of thenight. Father uncle was the first to withdraw. ’ He was shortly followed by General Montvere and his daughter. Such of the cremesnwm'nt liberty to do so. had retired to their bunks some time before. Finally the only men left above, were the regular watch. Horace Johnson, and Basil Veghte. The latter was standing at the WS- w ‘(lul‘ ‘ .uun side of the boat, near its center, leaning on his . rifle as was his custom when in mvsrie, and 100 ng out upon the moonlit sheet «water. Johnson was at the stem so that there was little gobslrllity of communion between’aem, u mz as they retained their ‘ Hatters remained him V an hour, when tiievind, winch- had have m- aain hiring slime darkness, so died" awa that l l l l l _ l i l i. «V nu»... .... u,“ 7: 1x..--.1..,,x a...” . ~T§H