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In his excitement he had forgotten, however, about the slashers who had recently left the cabin. But his mind reverted to them as he looked at the helpless, suffering creature before him. "Where are the slashers going?" he asked. "Against the mast-cutters," was the reply. "They have been plannin' this fer some time, an' are expectin' to meet the men from the north to-morrow.
Rum's my best friend when I fight dem." "Hear, hear!" another shouted. "Good fer you, Jerry! We're with you on that. Rum puts hell into us, an' makes us fight like the devil." "But the mast-cutters can fight, too," Norman reminded. "They are well armed, remember." "'Spose they are, what of it? They won't have time to use their guns. They'll all be asleep when we arrive."
Timon," Jean smilingly replied. "Ah, yes, in actually shooting the moose. But for you, though, Sam would not have been on hand at the right minute. It was you who suggested going to the mast-cutters on behalf of those Loyalists." "The real credit, then, should be given to the ones who plotted to carry me away from home. But for them I would not be here now."
As the dawn of a new day stole gently over the land the mast-cutters returned, bringing with them the rebel prisoners. The noise of their arrival awoke Dane, who sprang from his bunk greatly refreshed after his sound sleep. Then from the leader of the mast-cutters he learned the story of the round-up of the slashers.
She pictured to herself the gloomy forest, the uncertainty of the way, and the struggle necessary before she could reach the mast-cutters. Cautiously she crept to the little window and peered out. How dismal and forbidding seemed the forest. She could see the tree-tops waving and the snow swirling before the wind. The prospect of going forth alone on such a night was far from cheerful.
Our danger now is from the slashers, as they will do their best to stir up the Indians. But Pete will be on the lookout. He nipped a little game of theirs in the bud over a year ago." "How?" Jean was becoming keenly interested. "Oh, he brought us news of a raid the slashers were about to make upon the King's mast-cutters, so we were able to check them.
When breakfast was over, and Sam was enjoying his pipe near the fire, Jean spoke to him about going to the mast-cutters for assistance. The Indian listened intently, and when the girl had finished speaking, he remained for awhile in deep silence. "Can we do it?" Jean at length asked. "How far is it?" "Sam go wan sleep, babby two sleep," was the reply.
"Love each other, and may God bless you both." Tears were streaming down Jean's cheeks now, and Dane's eyes were misty. They wished to speak, but words would not come. Several mast-cutters entered the room who stared in wonder at the scene before them. Sam motioned them to be silent, and pointed to the door leading into the adjoining room. They understood his meaning, and slipped silently away.
She knew where lay the trail by which the slashers would come, and she kept her eyes fixed in that direction. At the back of the house another trail began, which led to the St. John River, so Sam had told her, and passed the very place where the mast-cutters were at work. This to the lonely girl seemed the trail of hope, while the other was the trail of doom.
But thinking the matter over, she decided that it would be better to go herself. The Indians might not be able to explain fully the serious condition of the Loyalists, or else the mast-cutters might not pay much attention to what they said. She mentioned this to no one, however, preferring to wait until Sam returned that she might talk it over with him.
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