CONTENTS.CHAPTER I. A MERRY GROUP II. A WARNING FROM THE WOODS III. THE FLIGHT OVER THE ICE IV. THE REPORT OF GUNS V. LOOKING SOUTHWARD VI. COWMEN AND RUSTLERS VII. THE WARNING VIII. GOOD-BY IX. A SUMMONS AND A REPLY X. A HOT PURSUIT XI. A STRANGE DIVERSION XII. THE BACK TRAIL XIII. A CONSULTATION XIV. UNWELCOME CALLERS XV. THE "DOG INDIANS" XVI. AN UNPLEASANT VISIT XVII. A DELICATE SITUATION XVIII. A MISCALCULATION XIX. THE BURNED RANCH XX. THE TRUCE XXI. A MESSENGER IN HASTE XXII. IMPORTANT TIDINGS XXIII. AT BAY XXIV. THE PRIMITIVE FORT XXV. THE FLAG or TRUCE XXVI. THE UNDERGROUND MISSIVE XXVII. ON PAROLEXXVIII. THE FINAL SUMMONS XXIX. A STRANGE OCCURRENCE XXX. THE MISSING ONE XXXI. WHY IT WAS DONE XXXII. THE HOSTAGEXXXIII. THE PRISONER XXXIV. OUT IN THE NIGHT XXXV. CONCLUSIONCHAPTER I.A MERRY GROUP.The Whitney household, in the western part of Maine, was filled withsunshine, merriment and delight, on a certain winter evening a fewyears ago.There was the quiet, thoughtful mother, now past her prime, but withmany traces of the beauty and refinement that made her the belleof the little country town until Hugh Whitney, the strong-beardedsoldier, who had entered the war as private and emerged therefromwith several wounds and with the eagles of a colonel on his shoulder,carried her away from all admirers and made her his bride.Hugh had been absent a couple of weeks in Montana and Wyoming, whitherhe was drawn by a yearning of many years' standing to engage in thecattle business. He had received some tuition as a cowboy on theLlano Estacada, and the taste there acquired of the free, wild life,supplemented, doubtless, by his experience during the war, was held inrestraint for a time only by his marriage.The absence of the father was the only element lacking to make thehousehold one of the happiest in that section of Maine; but the letterjust received from him was so cheerful and affectionate that it addedto the enjoyment of the family.The two principal factors in this jollity were the twins and onlychildren, Fred and Jennie, seventeen on their last birthday, eachthe picture of health, bounding spirits, love and devotion totheir parents and to one another. They had been the life of thesleighing-parties and social gatherings, where the beauty of thebudding Jennie attracted as much admiration as did that of her mothera score of years before, but the girl was too young to care for anyof the ardent swains who were ready to wrangle for the privilege of asmile or encouraging word. Like a good and true daughter she had nosecrets from her mother, and when that excellent parent said, with ameaning smile, "Wait a few years, Jennie," the girl willingly promisedto do as she wished in that as in every other respect.Fred was home for the Christmas holidays, and brought with himMonteith Sterry, one year his senior. Sterry lived in Boston, where heand Fred Whitney were classmates and warm friends. Young Whitney hadspent several Sundays with Sterry, and the latter finally accepted theinvitation to visit him at his home down in Maine.These two young men, materially aided by Jennie, speedily turned thehouse topsy-turvy. There was no resisting their overrunning spirits,though now and then the mother ventured on a mild protest, but thesmile which always accompanied the gentle reproof betrayed the truth,that she was as happy as they in their merriment, with which she wouldnot have interfered for the world.That night the full, round moon shone from an unclouded sky, and theair was crisp and clear. There was not much snow on the ground, andthe ice on the little river at the rear of the house was as smooth asa polished window-pane. For nearly two score miles this current,which eventually found its way into the Penobscot, wound through theleafless woods, past an occasional opening, where, perhaps, the humblecabin of some backwoodsman stood.