with mud. Alice, although brave enough and quite accustomed to
startling experiences, uttered a cry when she saw those snaky eyes
glistening so savagely amid the shadows. But Jean was quick to
recognize Long-Hair; he had often seen him about town, a figure
not to be forgotten.

"They've been hunting him everywhere," he said in a half whisper
to Alice, clutching the skirt of her dress. "It's Long-Hair, the
Indian who stole the brandy; I know him."

Alice recoiled a pace or two.

"Let's go back and tell 'em," Jean added, still whispering, "they
want to kill him; Oncle Jazon said so. Come on!"

He gave her dress a jerk; but she did not move any farther back;
she was looking at the blood oozing from a wound in the Indian's
leg.

"He is shot, he is hurt, Jean, we must help him," she presently
said, recovering her self-control, yet still pale. "We must get
him out of that bad place."

Jean caught Alice's merciful spirit with sympathetic readiness,
and showed immediate willingness to aid her.

It was a difficult thing to do; but there was a will and of course
a way. They had knives with which they cut willows to make a
standing place on the mud. While they were doing this they spoke
friendly words to Long-Hair, who understood French a little, and