welcome them? What could have been more desirable than to unite with
them in a country where whites were so scarce, and almost unknown?
Was it not contrary to all reason to suppose that a hermit or
misanthrope would have penetrated thus far to avoid his brother man,
and would have broken his own solitude by thus betraying his presence?

Such and similar were the questions Harvey Richter asked himself again
and again, and to all he was able to return an answer. He had decided
who this strange being might possibly be. If it was the person
suspected, it was one whom he had met more frequently than he wished,
and he prayed that he might never encounter him again in this world.
The certainty that the man had dogged him to this remote spot in the
West; that he had patiently plodded after the travelers for many a day
and night; that even the trackless river had not sufficed to place
distance between them; that, undoubtedly, like some wild beast in his
lair, he had watched Richter and his companions as they sat or
slumbered near their camp-fire--these, we may well surmise, served to
render the missionary for the moment excessively uncomfortable, and to
dull the roseate hues in which he had drawn the future.

The termination of this train of thought was the sudden suspicion that
this very being was at that moment in close proximity. Unconsciously,
Harvey rose to the sitting position and looked around, half expecting
to descry the too well remembered figure.

"Supper is waiting, and so is our appetites, be the same token in your
stomachs that is in mine. How bees it with yourself, Mistress Cora?"

The young wife had risen to her feet, and the husband was in the act
of doing the same, when the sharp crack of a rifle broke the