"Keep close to me and move as fast as possible," she said as soon as they were alone.
The rain was still falling, and the wind howled dismally overhead. The Frontier Angel led the way to the river, where they entered one of the canoes that were always there, and were propelled across by Dingle. As they reached the Ohio side the ranger saw a dark form suddenly appear beside him and glide along as silently as a shadow.
"Hello! who are you?" he demanded.
"You know well enough—don't speak my name. I knowed you'd be on some such a tramp as this."
Mansfield recognized the voice of Peterson, and to set their fair guide at ease, he informed her that it was merely a friend who had joined them.
The speed with which the Frontier Angel moved through the wood was wonderful. She neither seemed to run nor walk, but to glide as silently and swiftly as a specter over the ground. Her companions did not run, but they executed an amount of what might properly be termed "tall walking."
On—on she led them like the ignis fatuus, brushing through the dripping branches, tumbling over the gnarled and twisted roots, splashing through the watery hollows, tearing their way through the tangled undergrowth, until after many a mile had been passed and hours had elapsed, she halted and said:
"Here is the spot."
At first, our friends were unable to pierce the darkness; but, after gazing steadily for a few moments, they discerned the faint outlines of a hill or swell in the ground in front. Still at a loss to understand how this could be their destination, Mansfield inquired:
"What is there here that can assist us in our search?"