"Wah," said Willimack.
"He is as tall as a blasted pine, his eyes are like blazing stars. We call him Nabockalish, and white men call him the Skeleton Scout."
Willimack shook his head gravely at the unwelcome name.
"Skeleton Scout no good. Hate him, hate Long Man, hate Floyd, hate every one. Skeleton Scout too much no good."
"It is true. But if the Skeleton Scout should come, what would my brother do?"
"Run!" said Willimack, shortly.
"Run! Does a chief of the Wyandots run? Ah! look, look, sons of the Wyandot."
One look was sufficient. Out of the woods, holding a blazing torch in each hand, came the tall figure of the being they had known as the Skeleton Scout, bearing down upon them with a frightful yell. It was too much for human nature to bear, and they stumbled over each other in their wild efforts to escape from their dreaded enemy. One fell into the clutches of the Skeleton Scout, and they went down together, and then the strange specter rose again, and pursued the now scattered and sobered savages, who, wild with terror, were flying in every direction. The Huron had not run far, and to the terror of Madge he came bounding back, flourishing over his head a heavy knife, and she closed her eyes, for it seemed the hour had come for death. But, to her utter surprise, instead of striking her, he cut the bonds upon her hands, just as Long Seth came out of the woods on one side and Floyd upon the other. The young soldier ran to Madge and clasped her in his arms, and the poor girl dropped her head upon his shoulder with a cry of joy.
"Oh, Will. I hoped you would come, and you did not desert me. But your dear father, Will. Alas, he is dead!"
"Almost as bad," said Will, sadly. "He is badly hurt, and is demented. But thank God, you are safe."