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 Halfway down the ridge Lachlan spoke briefly te Striking Hawk and Little Mink as they ran for a little space beside his horse. In the woods the two Muskogees easily kept pace with the horses, but in the open road this would be impossible. Yet Lachlan felt little anxiety for his two henchmen. Knowing their woodcraft, he was fairly confident that they could make their way through the forest to the Fort.

The woods thinned, the giant trees standing far apart. Just below lay the bottom of the valley, level almost as the palm of a man's hand—a long, narrow natural meadow of short green grass, starred with innumerable wild flowers; and straight down this valley, with the wooded heights rising on either side, ran the old trading road.

Lachlan's heart gave a leap. He had feared that here they might come upon another war party, for the road was a thoroughfare for the Cherokee bands; but save for two bunches of grazing deer, the valley was empty as far as his eye could see.

They were well out in the open heading for the road when a hoarse shout from Almayne startled them. The hunter was pointing with his rifle. Far away up the valley, where the road swung round a jutting promontory of woods, Lachlan saw a large party of Indians, some mounted, some on foot—evidently a mixed band of Appalaches and Cherokees, two hundred or more in number.

In an instant Lachlan knew that Almayne had not shouted rashly. They had already been seen. As he