"No, my father is not an Indian," he cried.
He was on the point of saying more, but restraining himself, he picked up his gun and slipped swiftly away among the trees. Down into the valley he moved, hardly caring where he went. For the second time in his life he was afraid of himself; for the second time he fled from an angry grey-haired man, not through fear of what might happen to himself, but what he might do. His soul was stirred within him, and the blood surged madly through his veins. But now, as on that other occasion, he was saved by a mighty influence from being one with the beasts of the forest, and that influence was the prevailing power of love.
At length he stopped on the edge of a wild meadow, and threw himself down upon a bed of moss under a fir tree. He remembered how he had done the same five years before when he had fled from the face of the man from whose loins he had sprung. It was love then which had restrained him and held his hand, the love he bore to a woman whose memory was enshrined in his heart, and that woman was his mother. So now his love for the fairest maiden at Loyal kept him from laying violent hands upon her father, the man who had insulted him.
And as he lay there his calmness gradually returned, until he once again felt master of himself. He could not remain longer at the settlement with the Colonel's anger hot against him. Something would be sure to happen which might separate him forever from the girl of his heart's choice. He must go away and lose himself for a time in the heart of the forest. But before going, he must see Jean once more, see her unknown to her father, and ask her to wait and be patient. The thought of going to the Colonel for a reconciliation never once entered his mind; such a thing was most foreign to his independent nature.
Time passed unheeded as he remained there lost in thought. At length he was startled by the report of a gun, followed almost immediately by a ringing cry of fear. Leaping to his feet, he dashed into the open, and looked intently up across the wild meadow. Nothing unusual was to be seen, but a great crashing could be plainly heard among the bushes. To Dane that sound was similar to a discordant note to a trained musician's sensitive ear. He had often heard it before, and knew its meaning. It always meant danger, and never more so than now.
Bounding forward in the direction of the sound, in a few seconds his eyes fell upon the cause of the disturbance. A great bull moose was charging, and the object of his rage was the Colonel, frantically striving to free himself from a tangle of fallen tree-tops into which he had plunged. That the man had fled a short distance after wounding the moose was quite evident. But to escape now by flight from that infuriated animal was utterly impossible. This the Colonel realised, so his only hope lay in seeking refuge amidst the tops of the fallen trees. This position, however, was most precarious, for the branches were half rotten and brittle, absolutely unable to withstand the terrific goring impact of those wide-spread antlers, impelled by insensate rage and over one thousand pounds of flesh, bone, and sinewy muscles.
In an instant Dane comprehended the seriousness of the situation. He knew that there was no time to lose, so bringing his musket to his shoulder, he took a quick, careful aim and fired. The great antlered demon was but a few feet from the tree-tops when the bullet tore into its side just back of the shoulder. It charged and crashed into the branches, but where it charged it fell, and after a brief convulsive struggle remained still. The fighting days of the monarch of the trails were ended.
Hastening at once to the spot, Dane found the Colonel pinned down amidst a tangle of branches and antlers, and unable to help himself. With considerable difficulty the courier at last assisted him to his feet. Apart from several bruises upon the body, the only injury was in the left arm, on which one of the prongs had struck a glancing blow. An instant later this same arm had been caught under the huge body and held as in a vise. The Colonel was weak, and trembled as he endeavoured to stand upright. Blood oozed from several scratches on his forehead and trickled down into his white beard. But he maintained a brave spirit, and smiled as Dane questioned him about his injuries.
"I shall be all right shortly," he said. "There are no bones broken, for which I am most thankful. I am somewhat weak, that is all."
"Suppose we go down to the brook and let me bathe your face," Dane suggested. "It is not far, and you can lean on me."