within him at each fresh disappointment. What was he to do? Where was
he to go? These were the questions he asked himself over and over
again. Both he and Pete were weary, for they had slept but little, and
had only eaten what they could obtain at the various encampments. How
much longer could they continue? Soon the river would be frozen, and
then the search would have to be carried on by land. And all this time
what untold hardships was Jean undergoing, providing she was still
alive?

At length when hope was almost gone, an Indian passing up river gave
him a glimmer of light. He had been at the mouth of the Washademoak
the night the white girl had been carried off. A strange canoe had
passed by swiftly in the darkness, and he had heard a slight moan of
distress. This was all, but it aroused in Dane a new spirit of hope.
There might yet be time to follow this clue, and the Washademoak was a
likely place to hide the girl.

It was morning, and they were far up the river when this information
was received. The setting sun found them resting upon the shore not
far from the entrance to the Washademoak. They had just finished their
frugal supper, and were about to continue on their way, when the white
sails of the little schooner _Polly_ hove in sight, bearing steadily up
stream. Captain Leavitt was on deck, and catching sight of the two
rangers, he hailed them. As the vessel approached, Dane and Pete
launched their canoe, and awaited her coming. The wind was not strong,
and when the _Polly_ at last drew near, they could see the deck filled
with men, women, and children. In another minute the canoe was
alongside, and Captain Leavitt leaning over the starboard rail.

"Hello, Dane," he accosted. "You're just the man I'm on the lookout