reached for his firearm, which they were in the habit of having close at hand.
"Who is there?" demanded James Morris.
"It is I—Uriah Risley," came in the well-known voice of the Englishman. "Let me in. I've good news."
At once the cabin door was unbarred and flung back. All crowded forward, to behold Uriah Risley outside, on horseback. Beside him, also on horseback, was his wife, pale and thin, a mere shadow of her former self, but still able to ride alone.
"Well, I declare, Caddy Risley!" screamed Mrs. Morris, and ran out to greet the woman. "Is it really you or your ghost?"
"'Tis really me," was the answer, "although I sometimes feel like a ghost, I'm that thin."
"But mercy on us! Where have you been—with the Indians?"
"With them and with the French. I was with the Indians first—for many weeks—and then some French soldiers rescued me. They turned me over to some traders just before a battle with the English, and then the Indians and some French under Jean Bevoir got hold of me. They took me up through the Mohawk valley to Lake Ontario, and there I met a lot of other prisoners, your Nell with them."
