"You deserve to be shot."
The robber pleaded for mercy, and the Indian promised to release him if he would never again show his face in the settlement under penalty of death. He was then permitted to escape in his canoe.
The Indian led them through a path to the river, where they found an old carpet-bag filled with cash, a common grain sack containing family plate, a bag of provisions, and a valuable gun.
No further evidence was needed to convince the Chief of the perfidy of his clerk. He leaned against a tree unable to utter a word. There was the deerskin bag which Mary had made for the cash and which was in the safe the night of the fire. There were valuables which he had left in charge of his clerk before leaving for Quebec. The truth was only too evident. At length he was able to say:
"Thank you, Machecawa; you have done me good service to-night. I shall not forget it."
While these events were transpiring, Abbie and her mother were too anxious and excited to think of sleep. Mrs. Wright sat before the fire which roared and crackled on the spacious hearth. The angry wind whistled and howled about the house. It seemed as though the elements had gone mad with fury.
Abbie went to the window and peered out into the night. The face of heaven was dark, so dark that it seemed to frown upon her. As she stood gazing abstractedly into the darkness her attention was suddenly attracted by the flickering light of lanterns and torches. That wild shriek which had almost paralyzed her with fear echoed and re-echoed in her ears and carried with it strange forebodings of evil. She walked up and down the room, nervously stopping now and then before the window to observe the progress of the search party on its return. Soon her father entered, looking pale and haggard.
"Did you find it, Philemon?" asked Mrs. Wright, with bated breath as she approached him.
"Yes," he replied.
Suddenly Abbie sprang towards him, and putting her arms round his neck and pressing her head against his cheek, whispered: