To Jean Sam was the very embodiment of good nature and gentle care.
And she had good reason for this high regard. But as a great bear has
been known to bestow a remarkable affection upon a lost child,
notwithstanding its savage nature, so it was with Sam. Could Jean have
seen him that night as he led his score of followers against the
slashers she would not have believed him to be the same Indian who had
been so kind to her. The wild nature within him was aroused. He was
on the warpath against a hated enemy. As he glided through the forest,
his eyes glowed like living coals of fire, and his great body quivered
with excitement. His companions, too, were intensely stirred. The
slashers were against King George, and that was all-sufficient. Like
weird spectres they moved through the night. Not a word did they
speak, and not a twig snapped as their moccasined feet pressed the
ground. Never did a girl have a more determined and thoroughly-trained
body of men speeding forth on her behalf than did Jean Sterling that
night in the heart of the great northern forest.

For a little over half an hour the Indians continued on their way, up
hill and down, with no abatement to their speed. At length, after
climbing a higher hill than usual, they paused on the eastern slope and
held a low-whispered consultation. This took but a few minutes, and
when they again advanced it was not in single file, but spread out to
the right and left like two wings, with Sam in the centre. Down in the
valley were the slashers, and toward them they moved, silently and
stealthily as the panther stalking its prey. With bent, crouching
bodies, and every sense keenly alert, they glided toward the
unsuspecting slashers. Nearer and nearer they approached, and at
length when the light of a camp fire winged its way into the forest
depths, they lessened their speed, dropped upon their hands and knees,