Wyoming. Ellis Edward Sylvester

was the first question Maggie asked, as he drew near.

      "Can't tell," was the reply; "when I last seed him, he was fightin' like all creation, and graderlly workin' off toward the woods."

      "Then there is hope for him!" exclaimed Maggie, looking yearningly at the servant, as if asking for another word of encouragement.

      "Hope for him? Course dere am, and so dere am for you if you hurry out ob dis place."

      "But where can we go, Gravity? I promised father to try to get away, but how can we do so?"

      "I'll soon show you," replied the African, rapidly recovering his wind, and moving along the bank in the direction of the present site of Kingston.

      Gravity knew there was no chance for his friends until they reached the other side of the river, but it would not do to enter the stream near where they then stood.

      A portion of the Susquehanna was so deep that it would be necessary for all to swim, and, strange as it may seem, the only one of the party who could do so was Maggie Brainerd herself. Though Gravity had lived for years along the river, he could not swim a stroke.

      It was a wonder that the little party had not already attracted the notice of the horde swarming along the shores. They must do so very soon and Gravity hurried his gait.

      "I'm looking for dat scow ob mine," he explained; "if any ob you happen to cotch sight ob it – "

      Eva Brainerd gave utterance to such a shriek that every one stopped and looked toward her.

      Without speaking, she pointed up the bank where a hideously painted Iroquois was in the act of drawing back his gleaming tomahawk and hurling it at Gravity Gimp, who until that moment was unconscious of his peril.

      The negro held his loaded gun in hand, but the time was too brief for him to turn it to account. In fact, at the very moment he looked at the redskin, the latter let fly.

      With remarkable quickness, Gravity, knowing that the Indian was aiming at his head, dropped his shoulders just as the weapon whizzed past, and striking the ground, went bounding end over end for a dozen yards.

      The Iroquois was amazed by his own failure. He stared for a single moment, and then, seeing that the dusky fellow was unhurt, he brought his gun to his shoulder, with the intention of destroying the only protector the women and children had, so as to leave them defenseless.

      But in the way of raising his gun to his shoulder, taking aim and firing, Gravity Gimp was five seconds in advance of the noble red man: enough said.

      "De fust duty arter shootin' off a gun am to load her up agin," remarked Gravity, as he began pouring a charge from his powder horn into the palm of his hand, preparatory to letting it run down the barrel of his weapon.

      "Don't wait," pleaded Maggie, greatly agitated by what had just taken place, and by the shouts, cries, and reports of guns about them; "if we tarry we are lost."

      "I reckon I'm too well 'quainted wid dese parts to got lost," said the servant, who was really making all the haste he could in the way of reloading his gun. In a moment he had poured the powder into the pan of his weapon.

      "Now we'll trabbel," he said, hurrying again along the river shore. He took enormous strides, his gait being that peculiar hurried walk which is really faster than an ordinary trot.

      It compelled the others to run, Maggie still clasping the hand of Eva, while Aunt Peggy forgot her dignity in the terrors of the time and held her pace with them.

      The truth was that though Gravity was the owner of a scow which he had partly hidden at the time he saw the possibility of its need, he was afraid it had been taken by others of the fugitives that had stumbled upon it.

      Less than a hundred yards remained to be passed, and, as that was fast put behind them, even the phlegmatic Gravity began to show some nervousness.

      "I thinks we're gwine to make it," he said, recognizing several well-known landmarks; "and, if we does, and gits to de oder shore and has 'bout two hundred and fifty miles start ob de Tories and Injins, why dat will be sort ob cheerin' like."

      All this time the sable guide, although walking fast, limped as if he were hurt.

      "What makes you lame?" asked Eva.

      "I was hit by a cannon-ball on de knee," was the astonishing answer: "it slewed my leg round a little, but I'll soon be all right again."

      At this moment, when the hearts of all were beating high with hope, a rustling was heard among the undergrowth on their right, and the little company paused and looked up, expecting to see a dozen or more painted Iroquois in their war paint.

      The click, click of the African's rifle, as he drew back the flint, showed that he was ready to do everything to defend those who cowered behind him like scared sheep.

      To the surprise of each, however, a single man came hurriedly forth. All identified him as Jake Golcher, an old resident of Wyoming, but one of the bitterest of Tories, whose hatred of his former neighbors and friends seemed as intense as that of Queen Esther, or Katharine Montour, one of the leaders of the invaders.

      He was as much surprised as the fugitives themselves, and he stared at them with open mouth, slouch hat thrown on the back of his head, and the stock of his gun resting at his feet. He was the first to recover his speech, and, with an expletive, he demanded:

      "Where did you come from?"

      "Am you abdressing your remarks to me or to de ladies?" asked Gravity of the man whom he detested, and of whom, even then, he had not the slightest fear.

      "I'm speaking to all of you," said Golcher, glancing furtively at the vinegar face of Aunt Peggy, and bestowing a beaming smile on Maggie Brainerd.

      Much as the latter despised the Tory, she had too much sense to show it at this time. Walking toward him, she clasped her hands, and with an emotion that was certainly genuine, she said:

      "Oh, Mr. Golcher, won't you help us?"

      "What are you axin' him dat for?" broke in Gravity; "we don't want no help from him."

      Aunt Peggy was evidently of the same mind, for though she said nothing, she gave a sniff and toss of her head that were more expressive than words.

      The sallow face of the Tory flushed, as he looked down in the sweet countenance of Maggie Brainerd, made tenfold more winsome by the glow of the cheeks and the sparkle of the eyes, arising from the excitement of her situation.

      Bear in mind that the party had gone so far along the bank of the river that they were somewhat removed from the swarm of fleeing fugitives, and therefore no immediate danger threatened; but the call for flight was as loud as ever, and a few minutes' delay was liable to bring down a score of Indians and Tories.

      To none was this fact more evident than to Maggie Brainerd. In truth, she believed that Golcher was at the head of a company within call, and she sought to win his good-will before it was too late.

      Gravity stood with his gun at his side, the hammer raised, and ready to fire the instant it became necessary. One foot was thrown forward, and his whole demeanor was that of enmity and defiance.

      I may as well say that the servant was trying hard to persuade himself that it was not his duty to raise his piece and shoot the renegade without any further warning.

      It would have been shocking, and yet there would have been some palliation for it.

      In a short time the African's debate with himself ended in what may be called a compromise.

      "I'll keep my eye on him while dis foolish conversation goes on, and de minute he winks at Miss Maggie, or says anyting dat she don't like, I'll pull trigger."

      CHAPTER V

      "Do you want me to befriend you?" asked the renegade, bending his head down close to the scared countenance of Maggie Brainerd, smiling and trying to speak in so low a voice that no one else could catch his words.

      "Of course I do; don't you see what danger we are in? Oh, Mr. Golcher – "

      "Don't Mister me," he interrupted, with a reproving